Greetings. I’m writing to inform you of the filth that you have mistaken as people to employ at your establishment. I walked into your monstrosity of a chain with my heart overflowing with dreams of attractive sandwich artists. I had envisioned that there would be a beautiful girl working behind the counter, and that she would see how beautiful I am inside and have sex with me in the alley behind Subway. But those dreams were crushed, much like I wish that your staff deserves to be, crushed like the meat inside the mediocre sandwich I forced myself to eat.
The sandwich artist was not beautiful. She was ugly and her mannerisms were un-becoming. I like my women to be in the best physical condition and she was far from that. The rolls of her stomach reminded me of my own and I was offended by that. She tried to be pleasant and asked how I was doing, and I rightly dismissed her advances and told her physical form repulsed me. She had the audacity to begin crying at this point, which understandably escalated my rage. This type of manipulation is inappropriate for the work place. Inappropriate for the work place, and inappropriate for the mind of me, Eggward Pogglestein