Every generalization is dangerous, especially this one.

I took a trip down memory lane yesterday, and recalled a conversation with my grandmother when I was a preteen. You know the age, I was just on the verge of knowing everything and there’s no way someone WAY older than me could know anything. Well, Grandma and I were in a local store - see Grandma lived in what was then a relatively small town. Well, it was to me coming from the thriving metropolis I called home (only later years would I realize that the place I called home was neither thriving nor a metropolis). Anyhow, it was the summer, and it was hot in Southern California. There were two teen boys in there that were being obnoxious. I can recognize that now, but then I just stood oblivious to their actions. They were being loud, and making rude comments about some magazine they were rifling through. We paid for our groceries and left the store. As we walked out Grandma says, “These kids today.” That’s all she said. I remember thinking there was nothing wrong with “kids today” because I, as it turned out, was one of them and I seemed fine. I was, after all, almost 14.

As I’ve grown up (read: aged) I’ve noticed that the “kids today” comment is coming out of my mouth at an alarming rate. And I often find I extend that “kids today” comment towards other who are not from around here (read: other nationalities).

I was at McDonald’s about 2 months ago (side bar: I went through a week of needing fries – salt – after walking). It was 11:30 am. Behind me stood three teen – brats – who looked like they hadn’t been introduced to a hair brush, or a washing machine.

TeenyBopper #1 – looked to be about 16 says, “So they like, um, end their like breakfast at like 11am. How lame is that?”

I’m not making this up.

TeenyBopper #2 – looking like she needed a Q-tip to remove the mascara under her eyes says, “Like, I know. Who gets up that early anyhow?”

It was 11:30AM. And as quickly as I looked at the clock and saw it was 11:30am, a thought skirted through my mind, “Kids today, sheesh!” And just like that I’m old.

On to a new rant and off of my old rant – get it? Old…

Let me state for the record, I am all for the American dream. If you can come to the US and make money and have a better life, by all means. Come on in. Get a job. Pay your taxes. But please, I beg you, learn to speak the language. I’ve lived in foreign lands and while I wasn’t a permanent resident not did I actually have a job there, I did my best to learn bits and pieces of the language. And I do recognize that English is not the only language in the world. But in Belleuve, Washington it is the language on the street – well it used to be.

And now is when you get to see the not so flattering un-PC side of me that rears its ugly head every now and again when the stars are aligned just right.

Pet Peeve #690,876
If you are working in a service industry – let’s say fast food, and facing the public, hypothetically, please, I implore you, learn English. Having to speak Spanish at a Subway (or Japanese for that matter) isn’t my favorite things to do.

Now, the rest of the story …
Yesterday I decided to go to Subway for lunch. A decision that is not taken lightly by the way. There are several other boring options in the neighborhood, so Subway was fortunate that they were chosen. Their most recent marketing campaign is $5 footlongs. So, I offered PMDude the other half of a foot long – should I go to Subway. He hopped all over that and I was off.

At subway, the worker bee – we’ll call him Paco (see Pet Peeve listed above) asked in broken English – I think – what I wanted? He could have asked me to marry him for all I know. So I said I wanted a foot long Tuna – and confirmed that it was on the $5 list. I had to confirm because not ALL their subs are on that list you see. Paco said, “Jezzz” (please use heavy Hispanic accent) and I progressed with my order. I asked him if he could cut it in half. His puzzled look indicated that 1) either he didn’t understand or 2) that was not part of the process as he had memorized it. He said he couldn’t because it would then be two 6” subs.

Stick with me here.

I agreed with him that yes, they would indeed be two 6” subs, but they were – “cut from the same bread”. Paco said again, that no they would be two 6” subs and thus I’d have to pay for 2 6” subs (which by the way a 6” sub is roughly $4 and some change). So I asked, “Will you be cutting it in half eventually?” Paco’s response, “well? Jezzzz.” So I said, well then if he was going to eventually cut it in half, why did it matter if he was doing it here or there? His answer was simple response really – because apparently I might put different vegetables on the two halves. By this time there was a line queuing up behind me so Paco announced that he’d do it for me this time. I felt surprisingly victorious. It’s the small battles that do count after all.

Down the line my footlong cut into two 6” pieces went.

“ChIIse?”, says Jose (Paco’s cah-ssin – with a strong Hispanic accent)
“Yes, please American,” I respond. Neither of them noted my “American” accent, but whatever.

I loaded up PMDude’s with lettuce, tomatoes, pickles and mayo. Mine – just plain please. No veggies.

Shifting continents now, the Wrapper is Japanese. She and Mr. Manager appear to be “cah-ssins”.

The Wrapper says, “Two tuna 6” subs.” At which point, I go through the SAME conversation with Mr. Manager that I had with Paco. My point is simple, it’s 12”. Does it matter WHERE it’s cut? Mr. Manager said, as Paco had, that I could put different vegetables on each and thus they’d be different.

So, I naturally responded with my witty sarcastic rebuttal, “Well, then by those standards, the sub that has no vegetables on then, should be less?”

He yammered something about making me happy and how ridickerous (spelled wrong on purpose – please no emails) I was being and that this time he’d do it, but to next time I’d have to have it cut in the end of the process.

I get back to work – laughing my ass off because you can’t make this stuff up – and explain to PMDude that our lunch $$ almost had to go for bail money had I kept pressing the issue.

Common sense told me that regardless of where you cut the 12” sub, it was going to be 6” each (let’s not quibble about whether you actually cut it in half or not because it totally could be 5” and 7” – I’m just sayin’). Paco had a process. He was being guided by such process. And as a PM I respect process, and appreciate it - half the time. That being said process should also allow for flexibility. And in some cases you have to have common sense to even recognize when you need to be flexible – and I don’t mean in a bendy – touch – you – toes sort of way. I’m not sure what bothered me more, the fact that I had to whip out my Spanish almost to order at Subway, or that their $5 foot long only applied if you kept it a foot long for the duration of the order until they “deemed” it time to cut it? Imagine the horror and confusion I would have caused had I asked them to *gasp* not cut it.