The Lemon That Destroyed Us All

Note: The next volume of The New York Chronicles will appear within the next week. Until then, enjoy this tale.

The following took place at Subway today with The Silk, GunderBlunder and Hoot. (Incidentally, Subway is going through more changes than a confused teenage boy realizing that even his mom’s latest issue of Better Homes & Gardens has something spankworthy in it. They even sell pizza there now. Seriously.)

The Silk gets a sweet tea. We all sit down. He wonders why there are no lemons at the tea distribution area. We all agree that it is, indeed, strange to have a tea distribution area completely void of sliced lemons.

The Silk decides to inquire with the management as to why there are no sliced lemons.

Collectively, we also ponder exactly what makes up a Subway Seafood Sensation Sub Sandwich. Crab bits? Unidentifiable white fish meat? A cornucopia of processed sea-faring animals? Mentally challenged baby sea monkeys that kids don't want to play with?

It is decided that this question will also be asked by The Silk along with the aforementioned lemon question.

The Silk departs to the counter. “Do you have any lemons?”

He is met with the blank stare of the man behind the counter. His mouth is agape, yet no words can seem to make their way from his small brain to his large tongue.

The woman behind the counter, sensing the need for upper management aid, interjects and simply states, “No. No lemons.”

Clearly, she has been chosen as their leader due to her exemplary social skills and complete mastery of the English language.

Finding this odd, but knowing he must come back to the table with the important ingredient information we requested, The Silk proceeds on with his mission.

“Can I ask you something else?” he politely says. “What exactly is in the Seafood Sensation Sub?”

The puzzled look remains on the man’s face. We can’t be sure, but from a distance it appears as though a small bit of drool (or zesty honey mustard) has collected in the corner of his mouth. Obviously, the title of Sandwich Artist does not require basic motor skills.

The woman replies, “Crab meat…and…”

Then, unfortunately, she is stricken with the same face coma that has evidently taken over her subordinate and stands quietly, searching for an explanation of their culinary delights.

“Crab meat…and…” she repeats.

The Silk waits patiently. The awkwardness builds and the tension mounts as the line becomes longer behind him. What once started as a simple quest to sweeten his drink has turned into an all-out crisis.

“Crab meat…and…” she says again. You can hear the synapses in her brain firing information, searching for the next word that will end this ordeal and relieve her of the pressure that is bearing down upon her very soul. Then, finally, she reveals the elusive secret ingredient.

“Crab meat…and….lemon.”

After a brief moment spent wrapping our heads around what just happened, all of our brains spontaneously exploded at the sheer audacity of the situation.

In other words, it was a pretty good lunch.