Shut up; I know what you're thinking: "Why is he going to Burger King!?"
Because Burger King has that great flame-broiled flavor, fuck you, OK?
But, no, I was going to return to North Star Deli to try their Italian sub but... OK, you got time for story time? I got time for story time. Let's have story time.
It was what? one? two? weeks back, I think two weeks back when I got over to North Star Deli. This would have been my second full visit since my false start about a month and a half ago when I walked in, punched in my order at the kiosk, saw the total, scrunched my face up at the screen because, in my head, I was all, "Twenty dollars for a sandwich and a pop?" and then hit "CANCEL ORDER" and walked out because, Jesse Plemons, I am not paying twenty beans for a sandwich and a drink.
UUUUUUnnnnnnttttttiiiiiillllll two weeks, maybe only one week ago when I was all, "Fuck it, I actually have twenty expendable dollars. Let's go to North Star!"
I get in there and, whoo, wall-to-wall blonde women.
Kind of like this:
What in the Midnights!?
I cancel my order and tell the guy behind me, probably a Devon or something, to go ahead as I grab the last open seat in the place and try to look up on the menu what is going on with the Italian.
Meanwhile, Destiny, whose life-long friends from middle school still call her Desty, is sitting across from me with her ugly child, who I'm assuming is named Hunter or Braddock or some shit like that, and Hunter will not shut up about the Herb Brooks Focaccia. I heard this twelve year old toe-headed simpleton say "Herb Brooks Focaccia" so many times I think I had my first migraine. Meanwhile, Desty is trying to explain to young Hunter here that they just don't have it and please accept that and be happy with your secondary choice and she can't make them make the Herb Brooks Focaccia if they say they don't have it and Hunter keeps talking about the Herb Brooks Focaccia and really making a very good case for open-hand-slapping children in public.
Look, I get fostering positive relationships with your child while also preparing them for life's disappointments like a sandwich shop being out of something but by the fourth time the kid isn't getting it... You gotta fucking haul off and belt them one! At least tell them to shut up.
Like this:
Hunter: Herb Brooks ba ba ba da ba da ba Herb Brooks boo boo doo I want the Herb Brooks why can't I have the Herb Brooks Herb Brooks fuh fuh fuh vuh vuh vuh -Desty: I swear to god in heaven, shut your mouth right now or I will leave you here! Do I make myself clear? I am not going to tell you again, so sit there and keep your fucking mouth shut! I have had it with you! I will leave you on the goddamned street and the fire department can take you to the orphanage!
I don't know why people think parenting is that hard. Have you read this blog before? I have imaginarily parented dozens of unwanted children with immense success.
Anyway, I find my intended sandwich and see that, at some point, between six weeks ago and one or two weeks ago, they have decided to put fried eggplant on it.
That is an insurmountable problem for me.
I have a fairly open mind, I fancy myself an adventurous eater, but eggplant... It's the only thing on this planet I won't eat. I have childhood trauma involving eggplant, childhood trauma my second ex didn't respect and was thus aghast that I spit eggplant over the fence after I repeatedly warned her that that was exactly what I would do upon discovering that the flavor of eggplant hadn't changed in a quarter century since my first encounter with eggplant and the first time my father screamed in my three year old face, veins bursting out of his neck and head and spittle flying off his teeth and shit while my mother impotently tried to reason with his drunk ass.
And I get that flies in the face of my two-character one-act play above but there's a difference between telling a twelve year old to shut their annoying cock socket and screaming like a maniac at a three year old. Two totally different things.
So I get back up to the kiosk, thinking, "OK, just have them hold the eggplant."
I click on the screen and - OK, can we also talk about how dumb it is to have the touch screen in the restaurant? What's keeping you from putting a person at the counter? Is it money? Can you not afford to pay staff? Then you shouldn't own a business.
I click on the screen and either I am stricken blind at a tragically young age or they really didn't present me with the option to hold an ingredient. I could double shit up but I couldn't nix anything.
Befuddled, I see a cash tip jar and something that looks like a register and I look back in the kitchen and hold up a hand to get the big boss's attention and he doesn't see me because... I don't know.
He does, however, see Desty and comes over to her, hurried and frantic and then sees me and asks if he can help me and I say, "Yeah, I was looking to order the Italian," I point at the kiosk, "but I didn't see the option to ho-"
"Yes, yes!" he says, pointing at the kiosk, "Right there, yes!" He then turns to Desty and gives a longer-than-necessary-but-surprisingly-fast explanation for why they're out of the (this fucking guy again) Herb Brooks Focaccia, something to do with the bread, and then he scrambles back to the kitchen while Hunter still can't wrap his malformed brain around why he can't have this one goddamned sandwich.
I look at Desty. Desty looks at me. She gives me a look that says, "I know. I smoked while I was pregnant. Can you, maybe, take me away from here?"
I give her a shrug to tell her, "Lady, I'm trying to take me away from here," and I left.
For real, I just straight up left. That was some shitty customer service. Big boss had two people in the back with him; they're making sandwiches, not filet mignon. The Kappa Gamma Mu reunion in the dining room are all served. The people ahead of me waiting for food are Desty, Hunter, and Devon (Remember him?), this guy should not be so harried. Maybe there were just a ton of Uber Eats and Door Dashes that needed to be fulfilled. I don't know. But if you're acting like a coked-out meerkat in the middle of an afternoon, you should not be in business. You have made poor choices. You have not hired the sufficient number of employees. From the things that were coming out of your own mouth, it sounds like a vendor fucked you and I'm not interested in the story behind that. But you got the idea to put together a menu of disparate sandwiches, stick a kiosk in front of a counter, and hire two people to put (honestly overpriced) sandwiches together and you thought that was viable? You clearly can't keep up. But I hope the money you saved by not hiring enough people and not buying enough ingredients was enough to give all two of your employees rrreeeaaallllllyyy fucking good healthcare.
I don't know, dude. I'm not going back.
Instead, I went to the Cub on Lagoon and grabbed one of their Italian deli sandwiches. I had to put on my own mayonnaise and a leaf of lettuce was the only vegetable on it. Nothing about this screamed anything distinctly Italian.
But it didn't have any fried eggplant on it.
The cashier spoke to me like we were both present on the same plane of reality.
And the Lagoon Cub has removed all of their self-checkouts.
It's not doing as well as the East Lake Cub or the Minnehaha Cub, that last one being right across the street from the Burger King I was at this past weekend where I got the Crispy Onion Whopper before they take it off the menu.
It was too sweet.
I mean, yeah, it was good but it was too sweet.
That's all.
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