Substitude

Steve's is a breakfast / lunch place across the street from my office. It's mediocre, over-priced and the waitresses are some of the bitchiest women i've met. There's almost no reason to go there other than the Thursday french toast special. I don't eat french toast, but it comes w/ 2 eggs and some sausage so it's worth the $4.50 to toss the french toast. Every once in a while I build up the courage to ask for something other than the french toast. Regular toast for instance. Or an english muffin- anything that's not battered and fried. This request is usually met with a stern lecture about Steve's policy on substitutions and how "if they do it for me, they have to do it for everybody!". Rather than explain that my substitution would actually save them money, I accept defeat and live to fight another day.

Today I was feeling a little saucy and since I had who I believed to be Steve on the phone, I asked for a substitution. He was very polite and accommodating. He said, "yeah, we can do that for you this time." I was elated. "I'm getting a substitution!", I proclaimed to my coworkers. "I beat the system!", I bragged. When I got to Steve's for my pick-up, I beamed at the waitress's sourpuss and sat politely, waiting for my order. She made me wait, but I didn't mind because I was untouchable today. When she dropped the to-go box in front of me, she popped it open and said, "Here's your substitution." It was french toast. I sat for a moment and looked closer. It was a french toasted english muffin.

Touché, Steve. I'll see you in hell.