Subway is the only food service establishment in my entire office park and everyone from the polo shirt and khaki pants set is there from 11:30 am – 1:30 pm. I like it because when you drive down the winding shrub-lined office-park-y road there is a parade of doughy men dressed in three-button shirts and florescent-light weary women wearing ill-fitting business casual, walking like four years olds in their mother’s high heels, all carrying those clear subway bags full of torpedo-shaped loaves swinging back and forth near their sides. It reminds me so much of seeing people walking in Central Park or Runyon Canyon running with their dogs holding flailing bags of dog doo in their hands. I call it The March of the Footlongs because the women always get the footlong so they can “save the other half for later”.
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