Double Negatives Are A Bitch

She turns to me, indignant, wiping pickle juice from her fingers.

‘I told told him, “don’t put no pickles on there” and when I went to eat it, it was full of pickles!’

‘Um.’

‘Some people, eh?’

Some people indeed.

But somewhere out there in a strip mauled suburbia, crushed beneath the oppressive flourescence of uniform-clad meniality, I imagine a Subway employee two credits short of an english degree laughing contentedly to himself as he pitches the night’s last pair of plastic gloves into the overflowing trash can of his existence, wiping a hand across his brow before cashing out and locking up, content in his grasp of the english language.

If nothing else.