Whisper to a Scream

Here in NorCal, we have a chain of sub shops called ToGo. Long o’s. I mean, sure you can take them to go, but that’s not how you say it. It’s Toe Go. Anyway . . .

I’m in line at the ToGo yesterday, waiting on my delicious #20 with prov. There’s a line of people waiting, but service is smooth and we’re all in a “kumbaya, gimme my sammy” kinda place. Then this adorable young mother walks in with her two beautiful children (seriously) and walks right around the line to the phone-in order counter.

I gave her a side-eye, just to make sure she wasn’t cutting, but one of the clerks asked if she had a phone order.

“YEAH! IT’S UNDER LESLIE!” she screamed at the clerk. Now the joint was a bit noisy, but, bitch please. The man is two feet away from your face. And I’m 8 inches away from your blow hole.

She continued, “IT WAS TWO SANDWICHES! I ALSO NEED CHIPS AND A DRINK!” She said this last part as she reached around my back to the chip rack.

Lucky me! I get your shriek in stereo now.

Enough was enough. I turned to her, leaned in where she could hear me plainly without shouting, smiled my southern beauty queen smile and said, “Inside voice.”

She looked at me like I had shot her. But she piped down.

Damn, that sandwich was good.