I visited one of my favorite sandwich shops a few days ago, and found everything just as I remembered — except they’d changed the brand of potato chips they carry. Before, they sold Lay’s or Ruffles or some such familiar brand. This time, though, the bags looked different. Foreign. Scary.
I ordered by regular sandwich, grabbed a soda, and walked to the register to pay.
Cashier Lady: Hi there. The usual for you today?
Me: Yeah, pretty much, but–
Cashier Lady: Hey, no bag of chips today?
Me: Um, I don’t think so.
Cashier Lady: But you always get chips. You don’t like the new brand?
Me: Not so much, no.
Cashier Lady: Have you tried them? They’re pretty good.
Me: Yeah, I’m sure. But I can’t, really.
Cashier Lady: Why not?
Me: Well, they’re Utz chips.
Cashier Lady: Yeah, so?
Me: Well, I’ve got this strict personal policy never to put anything in my mouth that ends in ‘-utz’. You can see my dilemma.
That stumped her.
She rung me up without another word — some head-shaking, and an odd, eyebrow-raised look, but not another word. I’m sure she thinks I’m a lunatic now, but I almost asked her:
‘Well, do you put things ending in -utz in your mouth, lady?‘
“Well, do you put things ending in -utz in your mouth, lady?”
I decided I have enough legal troubles as it is, and let that one go. But I did get in one last jab, as they handed my sandwich over the counter. As I collected my food, I looked over and said,
‘Maybe if you guys got in some of those ‘Oobies’ chips. I hear those are delicious!‘
I’m pretty sure I can never go back there again. I lose more good sandwich shops that way.Permalink | 2 Comments