Subway Sandwich Quotes

For us, books have turned into fast food, to be consumed in the gaps between one bout of relentless living and the next. Airports, subways, maybe half an hour at bedtime, maybe something with the office sandwich, isn’t really ideal.

People ask me if I like golfing, and I look at them and reply, "Does The Pope wipe his ass with tuna fish sandwiches?" That response is NOT sponsored by Subway.

And then we would leave, and by that time it would already be dark, and as we headed to the bus or the subway or went walking home, we would eat our sandwiches, enjoying the Mexico City night, which I've always thought is gorgeous, the nights here are mostly cool and bright but not cold, nights made for walking or fucking, nights made for talking.

A man in disheveled clothing approaches you with a knife and tells you to give him your belongings. Imagine... You take a deep breath and blow your community assistance horn, and the local de-escalation enthusiast arrives on his unicycle. He drapes him with the comfort blanket and gives him a hug, whispering in his ear that things will be okay. You are stabbed 37 times and he uses the Subway gift card that was in your purse to buy himself a sweet onion chicken teriyaki sandwich from the $3.99 Sub of the Day menu Isn't this public safety?

If you’re a die-hard “foodie,” hop off the road in DuBois and enjoy a Subway sandwich made at a place that is eighty percent gas station.

Sometime in 2009, a few Romanians compromised the sandwich chain Subway. Over the next 2 years, they managed to steal somewhere between $3 million and $10 million, an amount that would allow them to eat fresh for quite some time.

A slight smile curved the corners of Genevieve's lips as she lay back into the perfumed water. What would it be like to live her days in this exotic setting? To never again have to whistle down a taxi, make a mad rush for the subway or try to eat a sandwich at her desk in between telephone calls? What would it be like to awake when she chose? To sun and swim, to have someone draw her bath and prepare her for the evening to come? What would it be like to be sent for by a man like Ali Ben Hari, to go silently down the long corridors to his chambers? To have him come to hers at night, when the air was scented with orange blossoms and jasmine?

Now, why was diagonal cutting better than cutting straight across? Because the corner of a triangularly cut slice gave you an ideal first bite. In the case of rectangular toast, you had to angle the shape into your mouth, as you angle a big dresser through a hall doorway: you had to catch one corner of your mouth with one corner of the toast and then carefully turn the toast, drawing the mouth open with it so that its other edge could clear; only then did you chomp down. Also, with a diagonal slice, most of the tapered bite was situated right up near the front of your mouth, where you wanted it to be as you began to chew; with the rectangular slice, a burdensome fraction was riding out of control high on the dome of the tongue. One subway stop before mine, I concluded that there had been logic behind the progress away from the parallel and toward the diagonal cut, and that the convention was not, as it might first have appeared, merely an affection of short-order cooks.

I was hungry and you gave me food….” —Matthew 25:35 (RSV) I sat through lunch at the usual eatery, hoping the woman would be gone when I walked back to the office. The sight of her was just too upsetting: a disheveled-looking mom at the top of the subway steps, begging with her two young children in tow. “If she’s gone when I go back, I won’t have to do anything,” I told myself. I’d be off the hook. But just the image of her had kept me on the hook. Why weren’t her children in school? Where did they live? “I shouldn’t give her anything because she’s probably an addict,” I rationalized. People who know more about these things than I do tell me beggars will take whatever money you give them and use it for drugs or alcohol. But what about her kids? They weren’t addicts. They were wearing clean T-shirts, jeans, their hair braided with beads. “I’ll pray for them,” I told myself. But to leave it at that seemed like a cop-out. Maybe they’re there because God wants you do something, Rick. Not just for them but also for you. The poor and hungry should not just be ignored. I swallowed the rest of my sandwich and went to the counter to buy some more food. Not for myself this time. I carried my bag and rounded the corner. She was still there. “What’s your name?” I asked the woman. “Dolores,” she said. “Dolores, this is for you.” I gave her the food and promised to pray for her. Back at the office I put her name on a note with the names of the other people I pray for. I’ve never been good about praying for big concepts like hunger or the poor, but now I had these three faces and one name. Harden not my heart, Lord, from the pain in the world. Let me know how I can relieve it. —Rick Hamlin Digging Deeper: Mt 25:31–46; 2 Cor 1:3–4

He has become self-sufficient in a number of ways. He can walk into a Subway restaurant, choose the ingredients of his sandwich, and pay.

This is a Rockaway Parkway–bound L train,” the automated voice announced as the urine-and-pickle-scented subway train jolted to a violent stop, as if on a mission to send as many passengers careening into the walls as possible. Rae managed to avoid toppling over only because she was sitting down and wedged tightly in a man-sprawler sandwich.

The subway, too, was not as she had expected. She had thought a subway would be a shining thing way way down in the middle of the earth. But there, one had merely to go down a flight of stairs and one beheld the subway; and she did not see the escalator that Papa flew up. But in New York Rachel tasted the best meal she ever had in her whole life. She and Mama had walked for miles and miles and hours and hours. They had had nothing to eat because on the train Rachel had eaten up the hard-boiled egg sandwiches that were supposed to be eaten in some quiet park with the squirrels and pigeons.

I got a cab to Camp Rogers with two other Ranger hopefuls. It was amusing to watch the other soldiers’ faces when the cab pulled up with me already in it. The two young men initially waved off the driver, insisting they were headed to Ranger School and couldn’t be delayed by my destination. The cabby happily informed them, “She’s going to Ranger School as well!” For a second, the two just stood there, looking at a strange woman eating a Subway sandwich in their ride to Ranger School. Cognitive dissonance at its finest.

Advantages Philadelphia Has Over New York: Fairmount Park (more than four times bigger and better than Central Park). The park’s colonial houses: Strawberry Mansion, Lemon Hill, Belmont Mansion. The weeping cherry trees of George’s Hill, the Playhouse in the Park, Robin Hood Dell. Hoagies (more than four times better than heroes). Steak sandwiches (they don’t make them here the way they do at home: layers of paper-thin beef smothered in grilled onions; melted cheese, optional; catsup, yet another option!). People who wait for you to get off the subway before they try to get on. Smoking on the subway platform. Row houses. The Philadelphia Orchestra. Mustard pretzels with mustard (in New York—would you believe?—they sell mustard pretzels plain). Red and white police cars so you can shout, “Look out, the red devil’s coming!

Granted the dialogue is unrealistic and cringe-worthy and the dude is a crude alpha with a cock the size of a Subway sandwich, but hey, no one wants to read about pencil dicks either. The

It was impeccably clean, and smelled like an old library might smell if someone was eating a Subway sandwich in it. Because someone was eating a Subway sandwich in it.

downtown. He held the matchbox up at the level of his chest so the cricket could see out. This was the first time Chester had been able to watch where he was going on the subway. The last time he had been buried under roast beef sandwiches. He hung out of the box, gazing up and down the car.

They stopped at a Subway attached to a gas station. When he placed his order for a foot-long meatball marinara with extra cheese and no vegetables, he wondered if the sandwich artist could tell that his mom had died.

You probably don’t think of your lunch as being constructed from powders, but consider the ingredients of a Subway Sweet Onion Chicken Teriyaki sandwich. Of the 105 ingredients, 55 are dry, dusty substances that were added to the sandwich for a whole variety of reasons. The chicken contains thirteen: potassium chloride, maltodextrin, autolyzed yeast extract, gum Arabic, salt, disodium inosinate, disodium guanylate, fructose, dextrose, thiamine hydrochloride, soy protein concentrate, modified potato starch, sodium phosphates. The teriyaki glaze has twelve: sodium benzoate, modified food starch, salt, sugar, acetic acid, maltodextrin, corn starch, spice, wheat, natural flavoring, garlic powder, yeast extract. In the fat-free sweet onion sauce, you get another eight: sugar, corn starch, modified food starch, spices, salt, sodium benzoate, potassium sorbate and calcium disodium EDTA. And finally, the Italian white bread has twenty-two: wheat flour, niacin, iron, thiamine mononitrate, riboflavin, folic acid, sugar, yeast, wheat gluten, calcium carbonate, vitamin D2, salt, ammonium sulfate, calcium sulfate, ascorbic acid, azodicarbonamide, potassium iodate, amylase, wheat protein isolate, sodium stearoyl lactylate, yeast extract and natural flavor. If

At noon, I downed a ham sandwich and Diet Coke and then I saw more patients. One eight-year-old boy had visited a chiropractor for “spinal alignment” eighty times in the past year. He had no back pain. It was a con job perpetrated by several area chiropractors. They offer the parents a free TV or VCR if they bring their kids in. Then they bill Medicaid for the visit. Medicaid is a wonderful, necessary thing, but it gets abused like a Don King undercard. I once had a sixteen-year-old boy rushed to the hospital in an ambulance—for routine sunburn. Why an ambulance instead of a taxi or subway? His mother explained that she’d have to pay for those herself or wait for the government to reimburse. Medicaid pays for the ambulance right away. At

Contrast Disney with Subway. Like Disney, Subway has created a metaphor for its frontline employees. They are “sandwich artists.” This metaphor is the evil twin of Disney’s “cast members.” It is utterly useless as a guide to how the employee should act. Disney expects its cast members to behave like actors, but Subway does not expect its counter help to behave like artists. The