The day I've been waiting for.

Today was a big day, one that I have been awaiting for many weeks. It was approximately 2 months ago that a rather exciting sign caught my eye on my way back from another bland lunch at a regular pit stop; simple black font on a freshly-white background read QUIZNOS. For the past couple of years, through some absurdly misallocation of marketing dollars, Quizno's has been running their nearly-pornographic commercials in Southern Maine; the only known corner of the world which still has yet to see a Sonic Drive-in. The sexy commercials show gorgeous toasted bread, spread exotically with dripping cheese, luscious meats, tender and juicy tomatoes, and succulent strips of peppered bacon, emerging from a bright toasting apparatus. The sight is enough to make any taste bud junky like myself, think awful thoughts, regardless of what time of the day it appears.

Thoughts of that sexy sandwich I had so fantasized about these many weeks kept my day at a very low level of productivity. The trip to Quizno’s didn’t come without a little remorse and relaxing of my morals. As I drove the short distance to the Hannaford Plaza, I passed Bill’s Pizza (See “Edible Hand Grenades…”). The messy parking lot wasn’t nearly as messy as it typically would be at such an hour. Were those sons a bitch Bill’s patrons on their way to Quizno’s too? Although I couldn’t see through the sun-glared windows, I could imagine the glum faces of my sandwich artist friends, not just at Bill’s but at Subway, even that bastard diner on the hill. Visions of imminent layoffs and “CLOSED” signs filled my mind.

I felt poorly for deserting those establishments that had never once deserted me, but there was no turning back, Quizno’s long arm of marketing dollars was reeling me in. I could practically feel the razor sharp hook piercing my cheek, as I was scoped from the local economy into the fast-track of franchised big-business. I was in the netted into the boat the moment I saw that big fucker of a soda cup, waving eagerly from the side of Route 1 at lunch hour traffic, hands fisted around an absurd lot of Quizno’s balloons. I pulled with dangerous speed into the closest parking spot, eyeing a heavy mom on a similar quest. She was a mere 30 feet ahead of me, but had the handicap of a dirty dinosaur shirted little boy in tow. My lust for that Turkey/Bacon/Guacamole sub knew no morals, and I went into my tall guy stride, easily passing her as we rallied for position in line. I made up for the terrible act by holding the door open for her behind me. We caught a quick glimpse of each other’s eyes. I had obviously prolonged her gratification by at least a hundred seconds or so, but there was no point fighting now, as we were both in the very den of our desires.

At approximately 11:35 AM EST, I set foot into that heavenly eatery for what will certainly not be the last time. Everything was glorious. Freshly stacked trays, tall tables, majestically towering sneeze guards, soda cup lids, napkins holders, glistening from non-use adorned the entire space. Within a few moments I was voicing to a tattooed young sandwich artist, all those wild fantasies that had danced in my mind for weeks. A new manager hovered around behind the scenes, making certain that the entire experience went off without a hitch. The coordination was outstanding for a virgin establishment! My sandwich made the quick voyage through the brand new toaster, and onto a brand new tray. I handed my plastic to the pierced teller and gushed excited praise as the sandwich was handed to me in return. Welcome to Maine my Latino Friend! This is the beginning of a long relationship I’m sure!