Mind Your Own Beeswax

Yesterday I went to a local sandwich shop to pick up sandwiches for myself and a friend.  The owner and two other sandwich makers were working.  I was ever so lucky to have the bleached blonde, greasy haired, 45 year old with a beer gut, 'I only hire young, cute girls' (or used to anyway, until I got in trouble for it), slime ball owner wait on me.  Here's how my experience went:

Owner: "I can help you when you're ready."

Me: "Ok.  I know I need a regular #25 on white..."

Owner: "Will there be any other sandwiches?"

Me (still thinking): "Yes.  Uummmmmmm....."

Owner:  "What?"

Me: "I'm still thinking.  I'll have the daily special."

Owner: "Is that the egg salad?"

Me: Yes dumbass.  Learn your own menu.  "I hope so!"

Owner: "Regular? What kind of bread?"

Me: "Ummmmm......"

Owner: "What?"

Me: "I'll have wheat please."

Owner: "You don't like wheat?"

Me (slightly confused): Um...I just ordered wheat. So....? "I like wheat."

The owner then proceeds to ask what toppings I would like on my sandwich. 

Me: "Just pickles please."

Owner: "Do you want a lot of pickles?"

Me (ecstatic): "Yes please!  I love pickles!"

Owner: "Are you pregnant?"

Me (now annoyed): "Nooooo.  I just like pickles." 

The owner then finishes my sandwich and turns to the back counter to weigh the meat for the first sandwich I ordered.  He then brings it back to the front counter to add toppings.

Owner: "Who is the other sandwich for?"

Me: "My friend."

Owner: "Just a friend?"

Me: "Yes.  Just a friend."

Owner: "A girlfriend?"

Me: "Yes.  My girlfriend!" 

Owner (smiling): "Ok."

Me: Dude, you are such a creeper and sooooo weird.  Make my sandwiches, stop talking to me, don't worry about my love for pickles, don't ask a woman if she's pregnant unless you are 100% sure she is, and give me my freakin' food so I can get the eff out of here!