Sometimes you want to go where everbody knows your name

So, it turns out, I am not memorable. Due to extreme laziness on my part, I've been going to Subway for lunch. A lot. And in the last few weeks? Every. Frickin'. Day. And I've been greeted by the same fellows making my sandwich. (Do no women work at Subway? Ever?) I assumed (wrongly) that this meant they recognized me and my sandwich (six-inch wheat, no cheese!). Today, I got cheese. It was a crazy kind of day. So, when sandwich-making man passed me off to take-your-money man, I told him I got a different sandwich today. And then, the blank stare. And a lame excuse about usually taking out the trash, so he hadn't been making my sandwiches. Liar! You've made my sub a million times, buddy, but I'm nobody to you. My no-cheese edicts fall on deaf ears. I'm just another nameless, faceless order. That's fine. At least now we all know how things stand.