Yet again, I've broken my committment to bring lunch from home in my desperate efforts to save money. I especially try hardest to do so on cold, rainy days. Not today.
The only things I could've brought for lunch were guacamole and plain bread. After having walked around Chinatown a few times in the past week to scope out lunch options, I decided today to head to old faithful--Subway. It's not only the cheapest buy for me, but also the one with the healthiest potential. Most of the other sandwich places in the area are at least double the price and double the calories for not necessarily double the pleasure.
As I approached the Subway at 9th and E street, I noticed a sign out front marketing the restaurant's latest "limited edition" sandwich. The Orchard Chicken Salad sandwich. I was intrigued. Cubes of plump, white chicken breast, golden raisins, celery, apple chunks and light mayo. Wow, light mayo?! Go Subway! I was still skeptical, though. Anything with mayo usually means a chunk of extra fat and calories. Subway's tuna salad is one of my guiltiest pleasures, but a 6-inch sub has over 500 calories and 20 grams of fat. I had a hunch that the chicken salad would tell a similiar story. As I neared the counter to order, I planned to inspect the roast beef and ham for marbling to determine whether I would order the Subway Club or just plain turkey. Sometimes either the roast beef and/or the ham have too many lines of grissly fat in it for me to consider ordering it. But, when it came time to order, I noticed the Orchard Chicken Salad ad again, staring me in the face. Upon second glance I noticed that the ad boasted only 8 grams of fat! Change of plans.
After I told the man my order, I waited patiently for him to assemble my sandwich. That's when I saw my liquid lunch scooped out of a bin and slopped onto the warm, formerly fluffy, wheat bread. Nooooooooo. That couldn't be! I looked back up at the ad, examined the chicken lightly coated in mayo (light mayo) and then looked back at the ice cream scoop dripping in white goo. FML. My day is ruined.
With dismay, I forked over my $4 and headed back to the office to eat my sandwich with caution. When I took it out of the bag, I noticed they only put on napkin inside. One napkin?! Honey, I'm gonna need rubber gloves, a bib and a towel to help me eat this thing! Not to mention, a shower and a trip to the dry cleaners afterwards.
I was too afraid to open the bread to look at what I was about to eat. I took one bite. OOooooze. Drip. Drip. Plop. I carefully continued eating and tried my best to wring out the extra mayo. No such luck. As expected, it was everywhere, and the consistency was so odd. There were a few bites of goodness in there scattered amongst the storm. But, overall, this was a huge dissappointment. It had such potential! Talk about false advertising. Industrial Mayonnaise Salad would have been more appropriate.
I am tempted to go try the other Subway up at 7th and H at some point when memories of this lunch retreat to the back of my mind with the other nightmaries. Until then, proceed with caution and ignore the glistening ads!
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
Saturday, May 8, 2010
What am I, five?
The curious case of Benjamin Button has struck me again. As my friends and I start to prepare for the onsets of our 29th birthdays, I am caught between feelings of a geriatric-like haze and a degeneration that only Benny Button would understand.
The transformation started several months ago when I started to notice, with much offense taken, that I was no longer being called "miss" but instead "ma'am." I didn't think my face has weathered that much. How did they know I was close to turning 30? It's the worst among young, doe-eyed wait staff. Somewhere between "And for the lady?" and "What can I get for you, ma'am?" I've started to resent these kids. Who do they think they are? Well at least I am not in college and look like I'm 12. Take that, kid. But those remarks are starting to give me a little dose of self doubt. Am I that creepy almost-30-year-old at the bar hanging with the young twenty-somethings? Am I the weird almost-30-year-old I used to whisper about and glare at while among the aisles of Forever 21 when I was in college? Please, no. I'm not ready for this quite yet.
What's even more perplexing to me these days is the converse of my un-graceful aging in the public eye--my degenerative health. I used to take pride in how unwaveringly strong my health was. One to two colds per year and that was it. It's not like I'm afflicted by elderly health problems like bed sores, cataracts, or loss of bladder control. Thank God. Au contraire, I've had some very unwelcome blasts from the past. In late March, I became the lucky victim of strep throat. Strep throat? Really? I hadn't had that since I was in primary school! (And, do they even call it "primary school" anymore? I feel like I've just dated myself.) If only they prescribed that delicious liquid medicine from back in those days. Not as horrendous as the horse pills they dole out now. My latest ailment? Pink eye. Got damn! What's next? Head lice? Diaper rash? Colic? I already had the chicken pox. Phew.
Thank goodness for CVS Minute Clinic. The nurse there knows me all to well at this point. I wonder if I can get a frequent visitor discount. I can just see it now on the nurses printout after my visit. Take one pill twice a day for ten days. Drink plenty of fluids. Avoid the moon bounce, playgrounds, and story-telling section of Barnes and Noble.
Sigh.
The transformation started several months ago when I started to notice, with much offense taken, that I was no longer being called "miss" but instead "ma'am." I didn't think my face has weathered that much. How did they know I was close to turning 30? It's the worst among young, doe-eyed wait staff. Somewhere between "And for the lady?" and "What can I get for you, ma'am?" I've started to resent these kids. Who do they think they are? Well at least I am not in college and look like I'm 12. Take that, kid. But those remarks are starting to give me a little dose of self doubt. Am I that creepy almost-30-year-old at the bar hanging with the young twenty-somethings? Am I the weird almost-30-year-old I used to whisper about and glare at while among the aisles of Forever 21 when I was in college? Please, no. I'm not ready for this quite yet.
What's even more perplexing to me these days is the converse of my un-graceful aging in the public eye--my degenerative health. I used to take pride in how unwaveringly strong my health was. One to two colds per year and that was it. It's not like I'm afflicted by elderly health problems like bed sores, cataracts, or loss of bladder control. Thank God. Au contraire, I've had some very unwelcome blasts from the past. In late March, I became the lucky victim of strep throat. Strep throat? Really? I hadn't had that since I was in primary school! (And, do they even call it "primary school" anymore? I feel like I've just dated myself.) If only they prescribed that delicious liquid medicine from back in those days. Not as horrendous as the horse pills they dole out now. My latest ailment? Pink eye. Got damn! What's next? Head lice? Diaper rash? Colic? I already had the chicken pox. Phew.
Thank goodness for CVS Minute Clinic. The nurse there knows me all to well at this point. I wonder if I can get a frequent visitor discount. I can just see it now on the nurses printout after my visit. Take one pill twice a day for ten days. Drink plenty of fluids. Avoid the moon bounce, playgrounds, and story-telling section of Barnes and Noble.
Sigh.
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