Working at the Sandwich Shop

Lyrics

A boy with slick shined black hair and gnats in his smile wants to know if I can write my number in Chipotle sauce on the bun. His friend requests exactly eighteen black olives. A girl on a cell phone informs me that the cucumbers and tomatoes on her sub absolutely cannot under any circumstance touch each other, but it's okay if they, like, nudge. My back is a popular lunch table. My sweat is everyone's favorite flavor. Sometimes, people attempt to engage in some sort of strange casual chatting when I ask what I can get for them. Pro tip: Yeah dude, the weather outside is frightful. Now tell me what you want on your fucking sandwich. I am literally paid to smile. Understand that if you try to crudely flirt with me in the toppings line, I will give you the meat with all the fat. I am not your babe. I do not owe you a single thing but this here sandwich and a complimentary napkin. There is mayonnaise on the bridge of my glasses and my fingers are pruning with pickle juice. I accidentally charge one kid two thousand and sixty-three dollars for a white macadamia cookie instead of $2.63. My hair smells like Jalapenos. There is exactly two minutes and thirty-six seconds before we close and my shift is over, so naturally the entire football team decides now is prime time to order thirty sandwiches. When I clock out and start my homework, my textbook is stained with spicy mustard. I will never spit in your sub for revenge. I admit: I am thankful to be working at all. So I will smile with all my teeth. I will swaddle your sub in paper like a newborn. I will tell you to have a good day. But tonight, I will wash my apron in the blood of rude customers.