There’s a new girl working at the local Subway Sandwhich bar. She’s new, I get it, but this is the second time she burns my Parmesan bread. Look at this keyboard, there are crumbs all over it! She doesn’t know the local mix of dressing either, so now it’s too much mustard and no smooth transition between the tastes.
I feel strangely justified when I ponder that someone ought to kill her.
I mean, she says lettuce instead of tomato. What kind of freak does that?