Subway

Habits comfort me. And eating at Subway for lunch is one of them. I was introduced to Subway rather late in my life but ever since I took that first bite, I was hooked. I go to the Subway at BYU quite a bit so much so that I recognize a new employee when I see one. I sort of know their shifts. I even know who is better at wrapping sandwiches and who is better at cutting the bread. When I reach for my wrapped sandwich, I normally can tell whether it would be tightly packed or not. I know that I need exactly three napkins if I have a cookie with my sandwich. And of course, I know just how much water to fill up in my cup so that I would have just enough to quench my thirst after my sandwich.

I used to pride myself on knowing my sandwich so well. There was this beautiful precision that I appreciated. But yesterday something changed subtly. I was just reaching for my wrapped sandwich when the cashier interrupted this familiar scene as she looked at me and said, "Wait, do you come here every day?" I mumbled a quick reply and turned away, embarrassed. I felt like my dad that one time when he walked into a Hilton hotel in Tokyo and the bell boy greeted him by name. All of a sudden, I realized that I have gone to Subway one too many times. Somehow, by wrapping around myself the comfort blanket of habits, I have become downright predictable and unadventurous. Over my 6-inch chicken breast on Italian herb and cheese bread that day (the same sandwich that I eat everyday), I resolved that I would do more to put myself out of my comfort zone.

Today, after an hour long of microeconomics, I unconsciously headed toward Subway once more. When the same cashier asked me what I wanted, I held my breath and made a quick decision: Roast beef on Italian herb and Cheese please! She seemed startled. There, I showed her. I could shake things up once in a while too.