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The Ladies Who Lunch
Written on 2002-12-14, at 12:36 a.m.

dizboy's disturbing daily diet...

1 Tall Gingerbread Latté

1 Medium Sprite

1 Black Angus Sub

1 Double Chocolate Fudge Cookie w/White Chocolate Chips

1 Hot Chocolate

3 Bowls Honey Nut Cheerios


John Live*

Not at all live...


It's been raining non-stop for the past three days, making Florida a miserable place to live. 

Unless of course, you're from England.

They love that stuff.


Yesterday at lunch, the lone few from my department decided to let slip the restraints of Theme Park food, and haul ourselves off-property to the local Quizno's.

Little did we know that it would all end in tears.

No, sandwiches...not tears...

Sandwiches.

We were sitting there only seconds when my manager dropped his sandwich, looked at it, took off the bun to expose....

Cheese.

Right then...that was fairly anticlimactic, let's try it over again.

We were sitting there only seconds when my severely lactose-intolerant manager dropped his sandwich, looked at it, took off the bun to expose....

Cheese.

There, that has more pop, doesn't it?

We all knew that he was very allergic to dairy products, I had even devised an entire nationwide marketing campaign based around his trials and tribulations as a lactose-free American.

I call it...

"Don't You Dairy!"™*

*PATENT PENDING PATENT PENDING PATENT PENDING

I looked at him with wondering eyes, as I wasn't exactly sure what protocol was in this situation. 

Do I call an ambulance?

Hmm...

Do I calm him down?

Hmm...

Do I continue eating my tasty sub, giving him a raised eyebrow, and my best "Some people" look?

Of course.

He stared at the cheese as if it were a discarded goat fetus, which had somehow made it's way into his turkey sub, freshly prepared at Quizno's, on Dr. Phillips Boulevard.

Walking up to the counter, I thought that he was merely moments away from making the girl who made his sandwich wish that she had never dreamed of that magical day when she'd first don a hairnet, but instead, he told her exactly what had happened, what was about to happen to him, and that he was not going to be patronizing their establishment any longer.

He sat back down, and I was disappointed. 

I was ready for a big knock-down, drag-out confrontation in the middle of a quick service restaurant.

But alas, I was to be robbed of that pleasure.

What did happen, however, was that the Manager came over to our table to personally apologize.

"Hi, I'm Lance, I'm the owner...blah blah blah...sorry you're going to die..."

My manager was taking it all in stride, telling him it was fine, and not to worry about it.

I, on the other hand, was getting upset that there wasn't a more heated discussion happening in front of me.

"Oh, you're sorry? YOU'RE SORRY?" I wanted to yell.

"Is your apology going to break down his lactose enzymes on a molecular level...hmm??? IS IT??"

It was great, I was all set for this scenario, never you mind the fact that it really didn't concern me in the least.

The manager feigned interest at the fact that a customer had basically been poisoned against his will in said manager's establishment, and in compensation for attempted murder, tossed out a $5 Quizno's Gift Certificate, which my manager quickly scorned, and I quickly snatched up.

Free sandwich gift certificate?

Hey, let's face it...

One man's trash, is another man's cheddar.

Be well...

-JOHN-


Your Host and Emcee...dizboy.

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