A Sub Shop Nightmare

My lady and I decided to have dinner the other night at this little mom and pop owned submarine sandwich shop called, "Subway." It is delicious, convenient, and can make you lose a couple hundred pounds if you eat there everyday like Jared Fogle. I, like most people, love a good Subway sandwich. I also, like most people, live approximately 3 steps from a Subway restaurant. My neighborhood Subway is the one I go to all the time. I'm comfortable there. I always have a pleasant experience there. The other night, I went to a different Subway. I will never do that again.

First of all, why did we decide on Subway? We live in a very big city with plenty of food options. The possibilities were endless, we could've eaten anything from Armenian to Zimbabwayan. We decided on Subway, or actually I decided on Subway, because of one very important reason... We had a coupon! Buy one 6 inch and a drink, get one 6 inch for free. That's the same as if they just handed us $3.75 in cold hard cash!

Instead of walking the one block from our home to the nearest Subway, we were on the road and decided to stop at the Subway that was on the way home. It was only a couple blocks away from our place, but we had never been. Actually, there are about fifteen Subways within a 3 mile radius of where we live. Is there a law that you must have a Subway, McDonalds or Starbucks within pissing distance at all times? We decided to stop at this particular Subway because, hey, it's Subway - they're all the same. Famous last words.

We entered the restaurant and were relieved to notice that there were only two people in front of us in line. They had even begun their order which is great news. We would be helped in no time.  I mean, it's Subway - the easiest ordering in the world. Pick your bread, your meat, your veggies and you're done. Easy Peasy. I walked in and noticed the elderly man and his teenage granddaughter in line in front of us. It's always great to see family spending time together. The disheveled eighty year old being helped by his precocious young 16 year old granddaughter. Oh look, she's leaning in to explain to him what's on the menu. Poor guy probably can't see very well. Oh, she's getting closer to him. Poor guy probably can't hear very well. Oh dear god, she's kissing the senile old bastard! They are REALLY kissing!They're going at it so hard, I think she's now wearing his teeth.

I must've been real hungry because the sight of Larry King and Kendall Jenner making out didn't stop me from trying to order a 6 inch sub club on Honey Oat bread. I say "tried" to because the moment I got to the counter and opened my mouth to speak, the bread oven beeped. I don't mean a small, sligthly distracting beep. I'm talking a shrieking, ear-ringing, "there's a deadly tornado a'coming" sound that makes you need to change your pants. Here's the exchange:
 Subway Lady: "What can I get you?"
Me: (about to speak)
Oven: "BEEEEEEEEEEEEPPPP!!!!"
Me: (craps my pants)
*I did not crap my pants but I did almost throw up watching Wilford Brimley and Selena Gomez play tonsil hockey.
The subway "sandwich artist" asked me again what I would like to order and once again before I could speak, the oven beeped. It's as if at that moment, I turned into a Martin Scorsese movie on TNT.

I finally got my sandwich and moseyed my way down to the cash register. Right before I was to pay with my trusty coupon, a man jumped in front of me in line. I'm not using artistic license, he literally jumped in front of me. It was as if he was double dutching with ghosts. He then asked the cashier for cookies. Didn't ask for a specific number of cookies, didn't ask for a specific kind of cookie, just asked for "cookies." It was as if he was at a bar in a low budget film and asked for a "beer." The Subway employee eventually got him to order correctly by asking, "What kind and how many?" This confused the dear fellow, so he just pointed and raised all the fingers on his right hand and just his index finger on his left. The lady, no doubt a genius mathematician, looked upon his hand offering and said, "Seven?" He corrected her by saying, "six" but not before he looked at the calloused hands in front of him and counted them.

He ordered his six raspberry cheesecake cookies to go and went off, I assume to play cookie Santa Claus with 5 of his friends. I was wrong, instead he walked outside, took a 180 degree turn, stared inside the Subway that he had just patron-ed and starting eating six raspberry cheesecake cookies, one by one. He wasn't looking inside with a creepy "I'm watching you" vibe, he stood outside and looked into the place he just came from with wonder as if to say, "How do I get inside that enchanting place?"

We finally paid for our meal and exited the god forsaken place. Of course, not before watching our favorite couple offer up a three-way with Subway's cookie monster. He, of course, accepted but not before stuffing the last two stale cookies in his desert hole. Something tells me that won't be the last yeast filled thing that enters his mouth this evening.

When we got home, I discovered the scariest thing of all. Not the wrong order. Not the moldy bread. Not the overabundance of mayonnaise. Nope, the scariest thing... They never honored the coupon. It was a true nightmare.

Broken Printer

There are real problems in the world. Floods, earthquakes, wars, bombings, me losing my hair - real horrible stuff. I recognize that these things are out of my control and I should just learn to deal with them. However, there is one terrible monstrosity that I am forced right now to deal with and that is my broken printer.

A few days ago I was trying to print out one simple black and white page from my trusty HP Deskjet printer. I have owned and operated said printer for about three years, which I guess is seventy in printer years. As I was printing out the most basic of basic documents, the printer made a rather unusual noise, almost like how a robot would sound if it sneezed, and wouldn't drag the paper into its, its... whatever it's called... ink pit? Let's go with ink pit. I'm now imagining that the inside of a printer looks like the a Sarlacc in the Great Pit of Carkoon from "Return of the Jedi."If you have no idea what I'm talking about, you should sincerely be proud of yourself.

I've worked in many situations where I had to un-jam a printer. Maybe it's because I'm not afraid to get my hands dirty, maybe it's because I'm the type of person who goes the extra mile to get things done, or maybe it's because I've happened to work at places that are too cheap to buy printers that consistently work. We'll go with the latter.

In order to fix a jam in a printer, you would just open up the doors and yank out whatever is stuck - A piece of paper, a staple, a buffalo chicken wing from Hooter's - whatever it is, you should just be able to pull it out of there. If it's a piece of paper, remove it slowly to make sure it doesn't tear into smaller pieces and stay in the hard to reach crevices. If it's a staple, be careful that you don't accidentally push it back in the machine or accidentally cut yourself on the sharp ends. If it's a Hooter's wing, you should probably make sure that your company has not hired "Sleazy Joe" to be your Xerox representative.

The problem with this cheap piece of crap printer that I have is there are no "doors" to open and check for paper jams. If I need to check, I have to literally take apart the entire printer. Or, more realistically, have my friend Andrew do it. The poor guy has to break apart my printer AND fight off my dog that is constantly trying to attack him. Talk about a shitty Monday.

I finally get the printer completely taken apart to find out that there is no paper jam. That little digital window on the bottom left of the machine is a freakin' liar! What I thought was going to be a quick, painless and very cheap tug for my fingers is now a slow, painful and very expensive tug for my wallet. I'm now going to have to use my hard earned dollars for a new printer instead of what I'd normally use them for - a quick and painless tug by the one and only "Sleazy Joe."

Happy Passover!

Everyone loves a good story. From the early days of humans, people would gather around the cave and tell the tales of whatever was happening at that time: how they caught the food, how they discovered fire, the time someone ate bad Brontosaurus and they had horrible diarrhea. Everybody I know has a story - whether it be themselves or someone they know - where the punchline is, "And then I/he/she/ shit all over themselves." I would imagine the same thing was happening way back in the early days of human existence. Especially since they didn't have refrigerators.

The oldest story I know is the one that Jewish families tell every year during Passover. As a kid, every Passover my family would go to Grammie's house and partake in the Seder. It would be two nights a year and they were two of my least anticipated nights. We would show up hungry and then be unable to eat for a couple hours while we told a fucking story?! The same story every year?! Just bring me the gefelte fish and shut up. That's how it was every year. My dad would lead the story and we'd all take a paragraph here and there and re-tell this same stupid tale. Jews wandering in the desert. the ten plagues, the Pharoah wanting to kill the Jews, Moses parting the Red Sea, the sales clerk at JC Penney overcharging my Grandma on her new blouse. Same ol', same ol' every year.

Last night, my lovely Shiksa and I decided to host a small seder. We invited the family we have in L.A. that happened to be in town. One of my brothers and one of my cousins were going to "real" Seders so they couldn't join us. We made sure to have plenty of Passover food - Matzoh, Brisket, Gefelte Fish, Matzoh Ball soup, Potatoes, salad, Charoset, etc. The Charoset is an apple, cinnamon, Jew-y thing that you have every year. It's quite delicious but you're supposed to mix it with horseradish. I don't understand why you would spend time to make such a tasty dish and then ruin it with something disgusting. It's the equivalent of a bowl of Chocolate Ice Cream that you cover in boogers.

I was the "leader" of the Seder last night so I was able to tell people what parts to read. Being the leader also means I have to hide the Afikomen. The hiding of the Afikomen is always the most fun part of the Seder as a child. It's hidden at the beginning and after the meal, you search for it. The winner gets a whole dollar bill! Back then you could buy a burrito and a small Dr. Pepper at Taco Bueno. Nowadays, that dollar can get you a couple pieces of Juicy Fruit gum. As I was hiding it last night, it occurred to me that I won't be able to play the weird Jewish version of hide and seek with the rest of the group. At that moment, I realized my innocence had ended. I knew exactly what Don Henley was singing about in 1989.

We went through the Haggadah last night, each reading various segments. At a few points, everyone in unison is supposed to read bits of Hebrew. The first time we came to such a moment, the language was butchered worse than the cow we were about to eat for dinner. There were two horrible sounds that happened simultaneously. One was the horrific version of our mangled Hebrew, the other was the sound of my Grammie rolling over in her grave.

All in all, it was a pleasant evening. The Passover Seder gives you everything you expect to have in your life - family, food and the suffering of Jews - all that makes things right in the world.

Happy Passover!

Unfunny Stand Up

Have you ever gone to a comedy club expecting to see some comedy, but instead witnessed a train wreck of a show with absolutely no laughable moments? It's the worst, right? You know what's even worse? Being the "comedian" during this excruciating moment. Here's the story of just how unfunny I can be in front of a roomful of people expecting to laugh.

My younger brother Brad, a very talented comedian, put together a comedy show last week. 8 PM show on a Thursday night, talented lineup, lots of people showing up to drink and laugh. What could go wrong? Brad, serving as MC and headliner, starts the evening off with a few jokes to get the crowd going before introducing a super funny comedian. Brad's jokes worked - the crowd was into it - the first comic goes up and kills. Then the next guy goes up to a great response. Then the next guy, then the next, etc. with Brad keeping the energy going with some quick bits in between. The audience is laughing and enjoying themselves. These poor bastards had no idea what was in store for them when it was my turn.

After five comics, it was my turn to take the stage. The rest of the comedians had done their job and kept the audience going. As a comedian, there are two horrible things that can happen before you go on. One is the comic right before you absolutely destroys. There is always a grizzled old comic at every club that re-tells the story of how he/she was about to perform for network execs/agents/managers/Lorne Michaels/future ex-wives, but they had to follow Richard Pryor. For some reason, it's always Richard Pryor and for some reason that comedian never got over it. The other devastating thing that can happen is you follow someone who is TERRIBLE. There is a grizzled old comedian at every club who tells the story about how they had the entire industry filling up the showroom to witness them become the next Jerry Seinfeld, but then they had to follow Carlos Mencia.

As I stated above, every comedian before me (and after me) had a done a great job. There was nobody that had bombed so I wasn't walking into a war zone. The audience was relaxed and excited to see every act. Now, I wasn't doing a traditional set. I decided I was going to do a more sketch oriented act. It would start as a regular stand up set and then within a minute, it would turn into something else. I had my older brother Jeff, who is super duper funny and had performed his own set earlier in the evening to tons of laughter, planted in the audience to "heckle" my performance. I had written out the bit and rehearsed it earlier with Jeff. It sounded good and seemed like it would've been a fun change of pace from the evening of stand-up. Throw in a little good-hearted, staged, audience ribbing for a couple minutes and then the others could perform their well crafted, genuinely funny wordplay.

I don't want to bore you with the details or transcript of the set I was performing. The only thing worse than watching bad comedy is reading bad comedy. The only thing worse than watching or reading bad comedy is performing bad comedy. The only thing worse than performing bad comedy is watching Carlos Mencia.

Again, I'm not going to write the entire act here because I'm afraid you might read it and poke your eyes out or hang yourself or light yourself on fire or jump out of your 17th floor office window or eat three cups of rat poison or snort eight grams of carpet deodorizer or hijack a plane and crash it into an ocean close to Malaysia or stick your head in an oven or put a plastic bag over your head and tie a rubber band around it at your neck or jump into the lions den at the zoo and attempt to molest a cub or perform magic tricks in Vegas with a white tiger or date an ex football player/sometime actor in Naked Gun movies and then start seeing a Jewish waiter or become Jett Travolta.

The only thing I can do is to offer advice to anyone wanting to perform and not wanting to ruin the show. If you're going to do a set that is funny, engaging and makes people laugh and think, you might want to make sure the writing is strong, the performing is top notch and you remember your lines. Oh, and you also want to make sure it's not about the Holocaust and Holocaust Remembrance Day and you shouting horribly offensive things about Jews, Mexicans and African-Americans.

I apologize to whoever had to follow me. To him I will always be Carlos Mencia which makes me wish I were Jett Travolta.

Texas, Texas, Yee-Haw!

I just spent four glorious days in three cities in Texas. I flew into Dallas, the city where I was born and raised. Spent the next day in Ft. Worth, the city where my mother was born and raised. And spent the next day/night in Austin, the city where my alcohol tolerance was born and raised. I enjoyed spending time with Mom, Dad, Grandma, Aunts, Uncles, Great Aunts, Great Uncles, First Cousins, Second thru Eighth Cousins, Friends and, most importantly, Dirk Nowitzki.

I had a little bit of free time the last few months because I'm (ahem) between jobs at the moment. I figured it would be a good opportunity to visit the state I called home for eighty percent of my life. I figured I'd hang out, see family and friends, and just relax. The first two I was able to do. The last was not in the cards. The only way this trip could be considered relaxing is if your idea of relaxing is constantly going from one place to another in an effort to see everyone and everything you've held dear since you had a foreskin.

I didn't have much of a plan while in Texas. The only thing, besides seeing family and friends, that I cared about was the "3 B's" - BBQ, Beer and Burritos. Specifically, Rudy's Barbecue. Shiner Bock Beer and Taco Bueno Burritos. If I still lived in Texas, I would eat and drink those three things everyday. It's a good thing I don't live in Texas anymore because with that diet, I'd be so unhealthy that my diabetes would have high blood pressure.

I'm normally not that much of an eater but when you're in Texas, you eat like a Texan. Big greasy cheeseburgers, moist barbecue brisket, chicken fried steak, Texas Sweet Heat Buffalo Wings, Snuffer's Cheese Fries, Spicy Chicken Tenders, Jalepeno infused sausage, Chick-Fil-A Chicken Biscuit, Chicken Express Fried Chicken with buttermilk biscuits, Z Tejas' Ancho Chili Fudge Pie, Potato Salad and Taco Bueno bean burritos. I need a Pepcid just writing that. I gained so much weight in Texas, I'm surprised I didn't have to buy two seats on Southwest Airlines.

All in all it was a great trip. Saw a bunch of people, had a bunch of laughs, ate a bunch of crap. It's everything Texas is supposed to be. My mind can't wait till the next time I'm there, but my stomach is in no hurry to get back.