Almost every Monday, I get a veggie lunch from Subway before going into my other office in Tulsa.
Today the guy behind the counter remembered that he remembered me.
I think because I didn’t have time for his lame jokes that slow down his service, so I went on the offensive and ordered a veggie without bacon.
So he laughed and started my usual, but then couldn’t remember which stories go with me. I mean, some people gossip with their hairdressers, but I chat up the people at subway. He remembered me and my food, but not my stories.
I know this because his small talk, for the third week in a row, began with “So, how’s your mom?”
So I, for the third week in a row, quickly replied with “She’s dead, thanks.”
This was followed by the expected awkward silence, but also was successful in making him hurry.
Do I just look like someone who goes around telling people about her mom, enough that it has to be the starting place for conversation?
So then I felt guilty, and tried to apologize via testifying while he wrapped up my sandwich that I made him take off the bread but not chop like a salad.
I told him not to worry, that mom is progressing well, very happy, and learning lots.
I told him how she missed out on carmel covered cheetoes.
I told him how she smiled at me yesterday.
I told him how we will meet her in the temple next month.
He just stared at me.
So I reminded him I needed to pay for my sandwich, and he told me $2.26, and I gave him exact change.
He said, “you are the most intriguing and hilarious person I have ever met.”
I told him I would be back next Monday for my sandwich.
He said he would try to remember that my mom is still dead.
But only temporarily, I said, as the door dinged on my way out.