'Bred Crumbs

The Machine That Changed 3 Percent of the Market

Hey everyone, today's the 20th anniversary of rabid, overblown Macintosh hype!

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Liv and Let Lie

So when exactly did Liv Tyler become the chronic-fatigue poster child? First, she spends the last two Lord of the Rings movies basically lounging about the elf house; now, she's in commercials shilling phone service or DSL or some such thing by lolling in a hammock. Have stardom and famous-father-dom worn her out? Has she decided her radiant beauty means she need only recline constantly waiting for fans and undersexed movie critics to serve her tiki drinks? What?

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Flunking the Quizno's

I've complained about this before, but today my experience at a certain sandwich outlet – let's just say it, the Quizno's in Richmond – cascaded in a Victoria Falls of incompetence seemingly designed to infuriate.

It began, innocently enough, with my clearly stated, straightforward, reading-from-the-menu order to the two workers at the head of the assembly line.

"Yes, a Regular Honey Mustard Chicken with Bacon, please."

Smiles from the clerks, then a little dithering around before:

"What size?"

"Regular."

"White or wheat bread?"

"Wheat, please."

One drone goes over to the bread supply, but soon begins shouting questions back at me.

"Wheat?"

"Wheat."

"What size?"

"Regular."

She comes back and pours what looks like barbecue sauce onto the bread. Then she passes it to the other drone, who piles on cheese, bacon, and ... ham. She starts to insert the sandwich into the toasting conveyor. There is a notable absence of honey mustard or chicken.

"Um, I had a Honey Mustard Chicken."

"Honey Mustard Chicken?"

"Yes."

"Honey Mustard Chicken."

"Yes, Honey Mustard Chicken."

She abandons the false sandwich, and the first drone begins anew:

"Oh, the Honey Mustard Chicken comes on Ciabatta bread."

There is a tone to her voice as if this was all my fault for making a bread choice when offered. I try to ignore it, but pressure rises.

"That's fine," I say.

"Ciabatta bread, or wheat?"

Pause, trying to absorb the stupidity. "Ciabatta."

"You can have wheat."

"No, Ciabatta is fine."

"It comes on Ciabatta."

Me, nearly yelling: "OK." Then I waved my arms around like a madman while they finally put the right sandwich in the toaster. I think the guy in line behind me thought I might snap. But for no good reason, I didn't.

The origin of this madness was that, as at many sandwich places, the drones acknowledge but immediately filter away the customer's order. Apparently, they don't realize it's a request; they think it's a greeting. But in this case, it scaled to heights of idiocy.

I've been writing comedy sketches lately for a possible troupe-in-formation, and I find it fairly difficult. No wonder; how can I top that?

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