This dink used to work at a Subway restaurant in England’s West Midlands. Last year, a regular customer was exploring YouTube when she spotted a video of Shannon, in uniform, at work … stuffing lettuce up his nose and in his mouth, then putting it back in the tray used to make people’s 12-inchers.
Yuk. Double yuk.
She headed right for the sandwich shop, spotted Shannon, and threw a chair at him before calling the cops. He was later charged with, and this is an actual crime, “contaminating or interfering with goods with intent to cause economic loss, alarm or injury.”
Tricky Dicky, 22, said in court that the lettuce was not, in fact, sold to the public, and that he took it out of the tray and discarded it after the video ended. Uh-huh. And his lawyer insisted Richard had no way of knowing that this video would end up on YouTube. I love that argument, which pops up here all the time: But your honour, I didn’t know I’d get caught.
He was sentenced to 300 hours of community service and, no surprise, fired from Subway.
I don’t eat at Subway. I used to. When it first opened in Canada, I thought it was a pretty good operation. But I went to one a couple of years ago and was appalled when the kid making my meatball sub actually picked at a pimple on the back of his pimple-covered neck while making my sandwich. I actually told him to stop making the sandwich, turned and walked out. I’ve never gone back.
When I worked in fast food the cleanliness rules were pretty strictly enforced. But I suspect that may not be the case these days, and now that I think about it, the pimple kid was wearing little plastic gloves. Maybe he thought that would keep him safe. Subway workers also have a bad habit of not cleaning their knives between sandwiches, which is how you can end up with a six-inch spicy Italian that tastes like mayonnaise-coated crab meat. Not cool.
Anyway, I have an inherent distrust of any restaurant that keeps its food out in the open like that, which is why you’ll never see me at a salad bar or a buffet. I like my food to be prepared behind closed doors, with a bit of mystery around it. Or, of course, wrapped in paper and microwaved.
Meanwhile, I have been unable to determine what happened to the chair-throwing lady.