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RESPONSIBILITIES FOR CANADIAN
“Look, I just want my sandwich.”
The employee behind the glass counter stared at me, a scared look on her face. This shit always happened.
“Ma’am, I just want my sandwich. That’s all I want. Just give me my sandwich and we all go home safe.
Still though, she remained stock still, an expression of sheer terror stuck to her face. I waved the gun for more emphasis. Once more, I repeated myself.
“I just want my sandwich okay?”
The counter girl remained frozen and quiet, like the rest of the sub shop. At least, until some asshole broke the silence.
“Jesus fucking Christ Heather! Just give him what he wants, okay?! Just give him a sandwich!” someone in the shop screamed.
I turned and stepped over the people lying on the floor in the lobby.
“First of all, my sandwich. My sandwich is not a sandwich, it’s MY sandwich. Second of all, who said that?”
Silence. Whoever had the balls to speak up a moment earlier definitely didn’t have them now.
“I’m asking a question, and I want an answer. Who said that?”
Of all the people, I wasn’t expecting this guy to stand up.
“I did. I did and I’m sorry. I’ll make your sandwich. I’ll make it however you want. Heather’s new, she... she doesn’t know how to do it… it’s her first day.”
“No, she makes it. I don’t trust you now. What if you spit in my food?” I advanced on him, keeping the gun centered on him.
“Sir I’m not going to spit in your food… just... please stop pointing the gun at me,” the greasy man in the dingy yellow polo squeaked out.
“Who are you?” I asked.
“I’m the manager,” he replied.
“Well Mr. Manager, I’m having an unsatisfactory experience in your store.”
“I’m very sorry to hear that sir.” He kept stepping back as I kept moving forward and prodding him with the pistol. “How can I resolve this?” he squeaked out, pressed against the wall.
“You can get this very nice lady to make me my sandwich, okay? You’re gonna do me a favor, and you’re gonna go behind the counter and help Ms.”—I pointed the gun at the girl behind the counter again. “Heather, it’s Heather.”— “Help Ms. Heather make me my sandwich. Okay? Can you do that right quick?”
The ratty man nearly slipped on the garish linoleum, so quick as he was to get behind the counter.
“Okay, you can help her, but she makes the sandwich,” I decided. I didn’t trust him; he was an asshole. Fuckhead spoke out of turn. Lucky I didn’t kneecap him.
“Okay, you gotta ask him what bread he wants.” The ratty man was whispering in her ear.
“S-Sir, what bread would you like on your sandwich?” The girl was stuttering, but at least she was trying.
“I want a six inch, Italian herbs and spices, Italian BMT with some meatballs, Swiss cheese and some pepper jack, toasted of course, and load me up on all the veggies. I want the Siracha sauce too. Cheddar sun chips and an Arnold Palmer.”
The girl stared at me dumbfounded until her sleazebag manager grabbed her and directed her around the kitchen. In a few short minutes my meal was ready.
“Thank you, that wasn’t hard at all.” With those parting words I left the store. The way rat-face’s knees were knocking he’d need orthopedics in a couple of years.
The employee behind the glass counter stared at me, a scared look on her face. This shit always happened.
“Ma’am, I just want my sandwich. That’s all I want. Just give me my sandwich and we all go home safe.
Still though, she remained stock still, an expression of sheer terror stuck to her face. I waved the gun for more emphasis. Once more, I repeated myself.
“I just want my sandwich okay?”
The counter girl remained frozen and quiet, like the rest of the sub shop. At least, until some asshole broke the silence.
“Jesus fucking Christ Heather! Just give him what he wants, okay?! Just give him a sandwich!” someone in the shop screamed.
I turned and stepped over the people lying on the floor in the lobby.
“First of all, my sandwich. My sandwich is not a sandwich, it’s MY sandwich. Second of all, who said that?”
Silence. Whoever had the balls to speak up a moment earlier definitely didn’t have them now.
“I’m asking a question, and I want an answer. Who said that?”
Of all the people, I wasn’t expecting this guy to stand up.
“I did. I did and I’m sorry. I’ll make your sandwich. I’ll make it however you want. Heather’s new, she... she doesn’t know how to do it… it’s her first day.”
“No, she makes it. I don’t trust you now. What if you spit in my food?” I advanced on him, keeping the gun centered on him.
“Sir I’m not going to spit in your food… just... please stop pointing the gun at me,” the greasy man in the dingy yellow polo squeaked out.
“Who are you?” I asked.
“I’m the manager,” he replied.
“Well Mr. Manager, I’m having an unsatisfactory experience in your store.”
“I’m very sorry to hear that sir.” He kept stepping back as I kept moving forward and prodding him with the pistol. “How can I resolve this?” he squeaked out, pressed against the wall.
“You can get this very nice lady to make me my sandwich, okay? You’re gonna do me a favor, and you’re gonna go behind the counter and help Ms.”—I pointed the gun at the girl behind the counter again. “Heather, it’s Heather.”— “Help Ms. Heather make me my sandwich. Okay? Can you do that right quick?”
The ratty man nearly slipped on the garish linoleum, so quick as he was to get behind the counter.
“Okay, you can help her, but she makes the sandwich,” I decided. I didn’t trust him; he was an asshole. Fuckhead spoke out of turn. Lucky I didn’t kneecap him.
“Okay, you gotta ask him what bread he wants.” The ratty man was whispering in her ear.
“S-Sir, what bread would you like on your sandwich?” The girl was stuttering, but at least she was trying.
“I want a six inch, Italian herbs and spices, Italian BMT with some meatballs, Swiss cheese and some pepper jack, toasted of course, and load me up on all the veggies. I want the Siracha sauce too. Cheddar sun chips and an Arnold Palmer.”
The girl stared at me dumbfounded until her sleazebag manager grabbed her and directed her around the kitchen. In a few short minutes my meal was ready.
“Thank you, that wasn’t hard at all.” With those parting words I left the store. The way rat-face’s knees were knocking he’d need orthopedics in a couple of years.
Subs are srs bussines.
For a story with a comedic take, I feel it was effective. It's very self-contained and tells an interesting tale in one go. Well done.
For a story with a comedic take, I feel it was effective. It's very self-contained and tells an interesting tale in one go. Well done.
Great concept but, as Bloons said above, weird formatting, and the flow of it wasn't super great. It felt very choppy.
Better formatting, more emphasis on descriptions after the reveal -- maybe around the Manager mark -- and a more pronounced and defined protagonist might have helped this story a lot.
Better formatting, more emphasis on descriptions after the reveal -- maybe around the Manager mark -- and a more pronounced and defined protagonist might have helped this story a lot.
I liked this, though I think it needs something more to feel complete. We get a crisp and humorous scene that rides the absurdity of its premise to overall success as a setup for a story. But right now it doesn't have much of a payoff or resolution, beyond the dude getting what he wants. What would help is some more context around why he would go to such absurdly over the top lengths to obtain something so readily available through ordinary means.
Tier: Solid (side note: I am trying to improve my alignment with/theft of Horizon's rating tiers. Mea culpa; mea maxima culpa.)
Tier: Solid (side note: I am trying to improve my alignment with/theft of Horizon's rating tiers. Mea culpa; mea maxima culpa.)
Man, from the title I had imagined this being about immigrants having to learn how to make some traditional Canadian sandwich as a prerequisite to becoming citizens. As it is, I'm not sure how the title fits in, anymore.
Okay looking at the story we actually get, others have already pointed out the formatting issues.
The narrator's description and observation come together to give him a strong voice. Not likable, but strong and consistent. Dialog seemed solid, the 'unsatisfactory experience' one stood out in particular.
I'm hung up by it not addressing the central question of just what is motivating this guy to actually hold up a sandwich shop. The fic had a lot of energy, though the pacing was uneven. A lot of it felt very strained, and then I almost missed the place where they actually made the sandwich.
While the scene made a strong impression, I'm not sure what it accomplished, other than 'well, that was a thing that happened' and 'damn, I feel sorry for the new girl'. You still had some words left, so you might have been able to wrap it up a bit more, but I'm honestly not sure what you'd add.
Okay looking at the story we actually get, others have already pointed out the formatting issues.
The narrator's description and observation come together to give him a strong voice. Not likable, but strong and consistent. Dialog seemed solid, the 'unsatisfactory experience' one stood out in particular.
I'm hung up by it not addressing the central question of just what is motivating this guy to actually hold up a sandwich shop. The fic had a lot of energy, though the pacing was uneven. A lot of it felt very strained, and then I almost missed the place where they actually made the sandwich.
While the scene made a strong impression, I'm not sure what it accomplished, other than 'well, that was a thing that happened' and 'damn, I feel sorry for the new girl'. You still had some words left, so you might have been able to wrap it up a bit more, but I'm honestly not sure what you'd add.
The premise sounds all too bizarre: aiming a gun to force a worker to make a sandwich. Why would he go to such extreme measures, especially for something as trivial as this? Wouldn’t the girl have made the sandwich anyway? It doesn’t make much sense to me, and it doesn’t read as something that could plausibly happen.
Despite this, I like the consistent tone of the narrator, both in dialogue and otherwise. All throughout the fic is he brash and impatient in his words and thoughts, and his character fits the premise well.
While the existing descriptions are effective in telling the story, they don’t get into much detail about his surroundings. A few more sentences placed here and there would help flesh the narrator’s world out some more.
Despite this, I like the consistent tone of the narrator, both in dialogue and otherwise. All throughout the fic is he brash and impatient in his words and thoughts, and his character fits the premise well.
While the existing descriptions are effective in telling the story, they don’t get into much detail about his surroundings. A few more sentences placed here and there would help flesh the narrator’s world out some more.
I'm going to echo the comments regarding formatting and the defined voice of the narrator. There's a strong scene here, but I didn't personally feel much was made of it, because I just couldn't get a sense of any kind of motivation or satisfying resolution. There are a lot of potential motivations invoked by the set-up, but if they existed then they were too hidden in the narrative for me to connect with.
Something of a miss for me, I'm afraid, but thanks very much for sharing your work.
Something of a miss for me, I'm afraid, but thanks very much for sharing your work.
This is basically the same story as Nobody Moves except it is told from the perp's POV rather than of the patrons.
I haven't much to add to what has already been said. I will just tack on that the end feels rushed. You take a lot of care describing us how the personnel reacts to the threatening thug, but then suddenly when the manager pitches in all gets resolved in a snap. That creates another break in the flow of a story which is already quite jerky.
I haven't much to add to what has already been said. I will just tack on that the end feels rushed. You take a lot of care describing us how the personnel reacts to the threatening thug, but then suddenly when the manager pitches in all gets resolved in a snap. That creates another break in the flow of a story which is already quite jerky.