On the way to my Aunt's house in South Calgary (circa 1988), my Dad and I were headed down the Mcleod Trail because he needed to speak to someone at the Hyundai dealership about our newly purchased Excel GLS. (a classic - one may wonder what he could have possibly needed to discuss about such a reliable vehicle but that's the subject of a future post) Once we continued on our way down south I begged my father to let me get some food and the Mr. Submarine logo I suddenly noticed up ahead reminded me of a recent discussion I'd had with my junior high classmates about what constituted a great sandwich. During this conversation someone had mentioned the Mr. Submarine "Pizza" sub. Until that day I had never heard of this sandwich but I couldn't deny the irresistible sound of the name nor the stirrings that the thought of melted cheese, tomato sauce and pepperoni caused in my digestive tract. I convinced my Dad to pull over and let me sample this creation, went in and ordered the sandwich from a man who looked like Super Mario himself. As I waited for my sandwich to heat up a woman came in looking like an extra from a Poison video. She wore a white lycra mini dress, patent leather shoes with metal stiletto heels that were probably as long as my 14 year-old calves. Her teased hair and the sheer amount of makeup she had on suddenly illuminated the term "tarted up" for me. She ordered a diet pepsi and as I watched Super Mario trip over himself while stealing glances at her as he caused her drink to overflow several times. As the overflowing continued a haze of desperation swept through the restaurant like a bad fart. The woman was oblivious and because of this I began to understand that my hunger was no match when to compared to the need of this small man in the restaurant. The thrill of sampling the pizza sub was suddenly lost. By the time this woman paid and walked out, I was relieved that she was gone and that the atmosphere could return to normal. Super Mario wrapped up my sandwich and I passed him a humid fiver. As we made eye contact he raised his eyebrows suggestively, shook his head in amazement and blurted out,"Whoa." Saddened, I made my way to the door and he desperately tried to offer me napkins. Clearly his day had been made and wanted to spread the joy. But my pizza sub had lost its meaning and I just wanted to get in the car and give my dad his change. I don't know how Mr. Submarine has stayed in business.
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ReplyDeleteOn the way to my Aunt's house in South Calgary (circa 1988), my Dad and I were headed down the Mcleod Trail because he needed to speak to someone at the Hyundai dealership about our newly purchased Excel GLS. (a classic - one may wonder what he could have possibly needed to discuss about such a reliable vehicle but that's the subject of a future post) Once we continued on our way down south I begged my father to let me get some food and the Mr. Submarine logo I suddenly noticed up ahead reminded me of a recent discussion I'd had with my junior high classmates about what constituted a great sandwich. During this conversation someone had mentioned the Mr. Submarine "Pizza" sub. Until that day I had never heard of this sandwich but I couldn't deny the irresistible sound of the name nor the stirrings that the thought of melted cheese, tomato sauce and pepperoni caused in my digestive tract.
ReplyDeleteI convinced my Dad to pull over and let me sample this creation, went in and ordered the sandwich from a man who looked like Super Mario himself. As I waited for my sandwich to heat up a woman came in looking like an extra from a Poison video. She wore a white lycra mini dress, patent leather shoes with metal stiletto heels that were probably as long as my 14 year-old calves. Her teased hair and the sheer amount of makeup she had on suddenly illuminated the term "tarted up" for me. She ordered a diet pepsi and as I watched Super Mario trip over himself while stealing glances at her as he caused her drink to overflow several times. As the overflowing continued a haze of desperation swept through the restaurant like a bad fart. The woman was oblivious and because of this I began to understand that my hunger was no match when to compared to the need of this small man in the restaurant. The thrill of sampling the pizza sub was suddenly lost.
By the time this woman paid and walked out, I was relieved that she was gone and that the atmosphere could return to normal. Super Mario wrapped up my sandwich and I passed him a humid fiver. As we made eye contact he raised his eyebrows suggestively, shook his head in amazement and blurted out,"Whoa." Saddened, I made my way to the door and he desperately tried to offer me napkins. Clearly his day had been made and wanted to spread the joy. But my pizza sub had lost its meaning and I just wanted to get in the car and give my dad his change.
I don't know how Mr. Submarine has stayed in business.
Wow. Easily the best "comment" ever posted on PaF. Amazing Hercules, amazing.
ReplyDelete