I just want a sub sandwich,
but it happens on each visit.
I get intimidated.
The shop has a bunch of hipsters,
really, more like pure hippies,
but they act as if they are hip to everything,
and you or I, we are pond scum.
They have full beards, and they look down at you from 5’2” or from 6’4”.
The fear doesn’t paralyze me, but I feel so lowly.
You piece of shit,
why do you deserve one of our sandwiches
is what I feel they ask me,
but that’s not what they say.
The sandwiches are fabulous;
otherwise, I would never, ever go back, never.
The first time I went there,
I went to the wrong register, and the hippy stared at me,
“What do you want?”
“A sandwich,” I said.
“You’re at the pre-order register.”
“You are rude as fuck,” I wanted to say but
of course, I didn’t say that.
I apologized for being there.
I get so intimidated by these hippies,
I hate myself and I hate myself for hours
for being so hateful toward myself
because some hippy judges me worthless.
I try to be kind and human, but that’s no good.
The sandwiches are so good,
I am sure they hide the good people in the kitchen.
I try to be hip but I’m pond scum.