Springsteen would be proud

This past weekend, I experienced America on many levels.

I spent time with friends and played volleyball in the sun. I attended a sporting event with a pin-drop quiet crowd during the playing of our national anthem. I went to a party in Norman where a homeless man was allowed to come in and drink with us, simply because he was wearing a "USA" shirt.

I went and saw "Semi-Pro", which is all about one of America's greatest heroes, Jackie Moon. And I watched several episodes of Band Of Brothers in order to remind me of how great of an American actor Ron Livingston really is.

And, on at least one occasion, I sipped margaritas on an open patio. (Thank you, Magic Bullet!)

It’s good to be free.

But there are different kinds of freedom.

This is the story of one of them.

I went to Subway for lunch on Saturday. On the surface, this would seem to be a relatively benign endeavor. But no.

As I entered, I saw a nice older couple at a little booth to my right and a lone man at a table to my left. In front of me stood the Subway Sandwich Processing Assembly Line™.

There were two women in line. The second woman looked annoyed.

I quickly found out why.

The first woman in line was insane.

This woman, we’ll call her "Funt" (for short), was having troubles.

Family troubles.

Menu troubles.

IQ troubles.

Her husband, let’s call him "Whip", was sitting at the table that was opposite the SSPAL™ and he had a look on his face that clearly told me that he’d been plotting her accidental drowning death for years. Along with Whip were "Alexis" and "Troy", who likely burst forth from The Funt six and seven years ago after some sort of Immaculate Conception. They flew about, and sounded like, the crows of hell.

“Whip, what should we get? If we get the Chicken wrap, do we get the whole or the half? Should the kids split one? What are you going to get?” Funt harped, flashing her dull gaze between the vast menu and her husband’s plotting eyes.

Never give stupid people choices.

It paralyzes them.

“I don’t care, honey, get whatever you want…”

Whip tried.

“But what are you going to get? I need you to decide!” Funt insisted.

Whip quickly searched the table for spare plastic knives. None were in sight.

“I really don’t care. Just order something! I don’t want anything,” Whip said through clenched teeth.

“You don’t want anything? Well, Jesus…You need to pick…KIDS! Sit down and BE QUIET!” Funt shouted.

At this point, I had visions of bouncing her forehead off of the SSPAL™ sneeze guard.

My hands clenched.

“Sweetie, you need to order,” Whip said reluctantly as he glanced the four people now in line behind Funt.

“Well, I just don’t know what to get though…” she said, gazing at the menu as if it were a four panel long calculus equation. “I mean, a whole wrap is over five dollars, but if the kids split it, then you could get whatever you want (said accusingly) and maybe I’ll just get a half a chicken sub (said with a sigh).”

I felt a scream building in my throat. I literally looked around to see who I would be offending should I decide to go off on this woman right here in the middle of Subway. The older man at the table in the front returned my stare with what looked like approval in his eyes.

“Are we curing fucking cancer in here or making a goddamned Chipotle Southwest Cheese Steak?!! Motherfucker! It's ten goddamn - Whip, shut those fucking kids up now!! - it's ten goddamn dollars! You don't need to take out a second mortgage for this fucking lunch!

Funt, get your ample ass out of line before the rest of us starve to fucking death or I swear to Christ I’ll grab this footlong Parmesan/Oregano loaf and beat the absolute shit out of you, until the only way you’ll be able to eat anything on this goddamned menu is through a very small fucking straw!”

Is what I thought to myself.

In reality, I let out a tiny sigh that said as much.

Whip shot his wife a look and with another sigh, she finally ordered.

But then, the Subway technicians made the mistake of asking what she wanted on the subs. You would’ve thought they asked for her opinion on the Democratic nomination. The children squawked. Whip’s head dropped to his chest.

As soon as she got done with the order and began paying, Whip stood up and got in line behind us.

Funt looked over at him with slackened jaw.

“What are you doing?!?” she asked, incredulous.

“I want to get a wrap,” Whip said, quite calmly.

“Well, why didn’t you just tell me what you wanted when I asked you?!” Funt huffed.

“I just decided,” he answered with the slightest trace of a smile.

There are different kinds of freedom.

You have no idea what some people have to go through to earn it.