So I have a little problem at work that is starting to make me feel like George Costanza. One of the workers at the cafe that I eat lunch at every day hates me. I guess I should give a little background first so you don't think I'm paranoid.
About six months ago, I reevaluated my eating habits and realized there was a little room for improvement there so I decided to change them and start eating much healthier. (I've done a very good job, by the way, and it hasn't actually been that hard. The only thing I regret is that one time I turned down what was later described as "the best piece of Filet Mignon ever" for a piece of salmon). After a long night of soul-searching about what I should eat for lunch every day, I settled on the roast turkey sandwich downstairs at the deli because it seemed like the healthiest option besides packing my own lunch which is something I am never going to do because life is too short to eat soggy bread. So the meal I've ordered downstairs at the cafe practically every day for the past six months consists of a small dinner salad with oil and vinegar and roast turkey sandwich on dark rye with lettuce, onion, tomato, honey mustard, and nothing else - and I'm pretty strict about that. To be honest, the cafe is really not all that great. Sometimes the vegetables are less than lively and once I found wood chips in my cup. I keep going back though because it provides the one thing in life I crave almost more than anything else: consistency.
Now, I will cop to being a little picky and anal about my lunch menu and I think I deserve to because I have been a very loyal customer. I'm there every day, I always tip, I never complain when I find foreign objects floating in my water, and I waited patiently one time while they interviewed all the candidates for the open dishwasher position before they made my lunch even though I was hungry enough to eat my own arm. In short, I am the textbook definition of reliable. The place is ran by an Asian couple in their fifties and I like it when she makes my sandwich because it only took her a week to figure out what my usual was. She's also smart enough to figure out to put the sandwich in its own basket so the oil and vinegar from the salad didn't get the bread all soggy.
The guy they have working for them is another story altogether. Whenever he has to make it, he always try to put cheese on it and my salad. Even though I've told him like a hundred times not to put any cheese on anything, I can forgive him for that because there is a bit of a language barrier between us. At least he asks and leaves the choice up to me. One time, he didn't get a basket out for the sandwich when I asked him to so the owner told him to get me one while she rang up my food. He shook his head at me and said, "Stupid." Seriously. I didn't say anything because I was too surprised. I guess the Spanish and English words for "stupid" are very similar. He's given me the evil eye ever since that day. Everything came to a head last week when he refused to make my sandwich. He told the owner he wouldn't do it and ran into the back. She apologized and made the sandwich for me even though she was quite busy.
I don't know what to do about this guy and I'm not sure why it bothers me so much either. Maybe I am too much like George Costanza who once said, ""YES! YES, everyone MUST like me!" Don't get me wrong, there have been plenty of people throughout my life who haven't liked me (I know, shocking.) but those people all had semi-legitimate reasons. I need to find some way to neutralize my enemy. I've tried being friendly and talking to him but the old patented Collin charm is just not working as advertised. I guess I could go somewhere else for lunch; but you know what they say about the devil you know? For the record, that was a metaphor. I do not think the cafe worker is Satan.
Maybe this works out for the best. Now the owner will just make your sandwich everyday. This means no cheese and no soggy bread.
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