Welcome to Subshack, Vol. 3: The Old Man

Unsure of what his birth name is, we just call him The Old Man.  He's been employed at Subshack since it was opened, but how long he's actually been working on the piece of land on which the building was raised has yet to be determined.  We've heard tales of him pumping gas in that very spot back in the 1940's when it was a gas station, and rumors of ancient Egyptian hieroglyphics of him hunting families of sasquatch have been floating around since I was hired.

The Old Man is also one of the angriest bastards you'll ever come across.  The smallest of errors may send him into a blind rage full of screaming and ranting.  Working harder and being productive will do the same.  The most you can do to avoid being ripped to shreds by his razor sharp claws (his nails haven't been trimmed since 1936, when a whip-wielding archeologist trapped him in a cave and filed them down in an effort to render him harmless) is stand completely still until called upon to do his bidding.

In 2007, Subshack veteran Michael Tejeda discovered a way to soothe The Old Man's madness.  Albeit only a temporary solution, it is an often-used tactic to get through a long shift with important limbs intact:

You've got to rub his belly.

This sends him into a state of short-lived serenity, where he reflects on his past and tells tales of valor, terror and battles long-forgotten by anyone else.

Many have attempted to slay the beast, yet none have succeeded.  It is said that he draws strength from his age and that the devouring of processed meats and grains only amplifies his power.  Taking into account his place of employment and unknown origins, he very well may be unstoppable.  This is proven by his trophy wall; a wall adorned with the heads of fallen heroes who once stood against him.

Should you venture into Subshack in an effort to quell your hunger, heed my words and proceed with great caution.

Ancient texts have prophecied a great hero that will take up arms against the one known as The Old Man and succeed where others have failed.  A hero of humble upbringing and great strength, accompanied by a group of like-minded allies the likes of which have never been seen.

My time will come.

Remember my story.

Welcome to Subshack, Vol. 2: Sabotage.

I like to leave early.

It doesn't matter where I am, what I'm doing or if I'm getting paid to be there; I just love leaving early.

Any friends who have been out to bars or parties with me, as well as co-workers and family members, know that I'm not much for staying anywhere until a designated time or even waiting for other members of the party to put their coats on before I hit the old dusty trail.

It could be a mild case of wanderlust or just a simple fear of stagnation, but most of the time people consider it to be just downright rude.

I tell you this because I want you to know that when something stands in my way when I'm dead-set on getting the hell out of wherever I am, things can get just a wee-bit out of hand.  Outwardly I'll be completely calm.  Cool.  Everything will appear to be normal and there will be absolutely no sign of disdain.  Like Dexter, only my Dark Passenger has more of a yearning to depart than a hankerin' for killin' folks.

 

Even though I wouldn't have had an entirely acceptable reason to leave before, if I've been denied the right to shake the scene, suddenly my surroundings become unbearable.  I'll have the overwhelming feeling of being imprisoned in a small dark room like Jodi Foster in Panic Room.  Only in my case, I'd most likely welcome the heavily armed thugs that are attempting to blowtorch through the steel door and kidnap me.

...I don't know, man.

I'm highly competitive by nature, and over the years have learned that no good comes from throwing a hissy-fit to get my way.  The best way to defeat your enemy is to wait patiently until the perfect moment to strike presents itself.  I'm a cobra.

Contemplate.  Plan.  Execute.

Shove a cucumber in the tailpipe of her car?  Dump a bucket of mayonnaise on the engine?  ...Nah.  I'll just steal her car keys.   

 As anyone who has ever owned a car knows, it's extremely frustrating to lose your car keys.  It almost immediately incites a state of panic in most individuals, as car keys can be the one thing standing in the way of you and getting to work on time, keeping your dinner reservation or even getting laid.  Between having to retrace every step you took since you last used them and having useless morons say things like "It'll be in the last place you look!", it's easy to lose your composure and become overwhelmed by a fiery, Carrie-like rage.

Following through on deceitful plans that are less than well thought-out (hiding a person's car keys, for example)  can be tricky.  You have to ignore all the questionable decisions you've made, avoid letting any sort of guilt sink in and just power through with your head down, as to not expose yourself to the possibility of being found out.  You must keep your cool when the shit hits the fan, or risk having all of the shit scraped off of the fan and then flung in your direction.

Someone wise might say that this is a valuable lesson in why you shouldn't lower yourself to the level of being conniving and evil just so you can go home and re-watch the first season of Arrested Development for the fourth time.

That ain't me, baby.

Final step:


Get out as fast as you can.

Welcome to Subshack.

So through a mix of bad decisions, comfort and a general lack of determination career-wise, I've been working at Subshack for seven years.

Okay, it's not that bad.

But it still wasn't the plan.


When I was a wee-child I was pretty set on becoming an architect/boxer/movie star/Arnold Schwarzenegger's best friend.  I also had a brief dream of becoming a Holy Warrior sent from God to destroy all things evil, with awesome shiny Jesus armor and a giant Final Fantasy-style sword and probably some kind of sweet Novembeard, only it would be an ALLYEARLONGbeard because that's one of the perks of being Heaven's finest.  Then I realized at the age of eight or so that it doesn't seem that they have any sort of application process.  Also, the armor they gave me probably wouldn't be quite as cool as I originally had thought.

Not quite what I had in mind.

Fast forward about 18 years, to Veteran's Day:

It's not so bad as long as you can stay detached from it all, though.  It's pretty easy to get sucked into a bad case of tunnel vision where your co-workers become your new family (or arch-enemies.)  To have your entire day ruined because you put too much mayo in the tuna or you found out a fellow employee thinks you smell like a hooker is most likely a sign that you're not keeping your eye on the big picture.

The job can also be pretty fantastic depending on whom you're working with.  Some days it's like a festival of sandwiches, with bread cart rides, cucumber swashbuckling and cartwheel attempts (successful cartwheels:  0).  Other days I feel like I've been tied down and forced to watch an entire season of Maury, except, ya know, without as much DNA testing.

Stimulating.

Overall it isn't a horrible place to work, and it'll do until I get things figured out.  I spent years running in place, all the while making stops to look behind me.  Nowadays it's all about moving from Mediocretown to Awesomeville, which is either going to result in me becoming a huge success or a sensational dud.  Either way, it's going to be one hell of a journey.

Well, at least I'm making some progress.