The day I got kicked out of Schlotzsky's...
I originally posted this in April 2011. I am re-posting it because a) I worked hard on those graphics, homies, b) word of caution to mean sandwich-making folks needed to be put out there again and c) the post features Billy Ocean and we all know he could use some new publicity.
Schlotzsky's makes a sandwich that is after my own heart, pocketbook and loose change. It is my favorite sandwich restaurant. When I see one, my face lights up, my heart starts beating faster and my palms sweat. Because of my devotion to this nationwide chain, I will go through many obstacles to get there. On a recent visit, this is what I saw in the parking lot and you better believe I karate chopped myself through that mess and enjoyed an Original Turkey Sandwich within minutes.
I calmly ordered food for me and my three-year-old while probably shoving a pacifier in baby dude's mouth. I probably made a nice remark to the lady behind me who commented, "Wow! You've got YOUR hands full. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!" and offered encouraging comments to the boys like "We're gonna eat soon!" and "It's almost time!"
We finally finish at the register and make our way over to the window to wait for Sandwich Lady #1 and Sandwich Lady #2 to make our edible works of art. There was no place to sit yet, so I did my best to console my precious boy while holding his infant carrier, holding our chips and cookies and getting lemonade for my three-year-old...all at the same dang time.
That's when Sandwich Lady #2, whose sandwich making skills I was just in the process of admiring, lambasted me this way...
|All of the sandwich eaters in that previously crowded restaurant must have fled |
when The Schlotzsky's Sandwich Nazi started running her mouth.
She went on to say he was crying too much and we needed to leave the restaurant immediately. Listen to me, readers, and look into my eyes: He was not crying that much or that loud or for that long. I am a mother who is very sensitive to my children and their effect on strangers. He was whimpering and was ready for me to put all of the crap in my hands down and pick him the heck up. The restaurant was LOUD and CROWDED. He wasn't standing out in the crowd. I was NOT receiving mean looks from any of the other patrons. I know the mean looks.I was furious, humiliated and had a knot in my throat at the same time but somehow was able to blurt out,
"You are so rude! I will NOT leave your restaurant! I will call the Schlotzsky's headquarters. You don't talk to people that way!"
My baby had long since stopped crying by this point, of course.
We somehow ate our sandwiches in that restaurant, but I don't know how. I guess I was able to do it because I knew The Original Turkey Sandwich hadn't done anything to me directly. I fired off an e-mail to Schlotzsky's later that day and posted a message on Facebook telling everyone I knew the story. I encouraged them to never eat at that particular location. The main Schlotzsky's office sent me an apologetic e-mail, informed me that all the restaurants were franchises and individually owned and sent me a $25 gift certificate.
That particular Schlotzsky's now?
It's out of business.
(I'm not delusional enough to think they're out of business because of my e-mail. I think it was because Billy Ocean was off-key that day and they were fearful he would be singing every day at lunch. Well, that and the fact there was a sumo wrestler and dragon at the front door.)