Potbelly’s
posted in Reviews |
If you are unfamiliar with this new breed of eatery, think prototypical trendy reasonably priced neighborhood restaurant stripped of full service. Vintage knickknacks, street signs, ornamental whatnots, and various novelty flare create what suckers may deem a colorful charm. Potbelly’s has done their homework, staying true to the formulaic interior design of trendy hash houses nationwide.
My dining partner this fine afternoon was my brother Eric, a renowned connoisseur of thrifty lunchtime hit and runs. As we followed suit and took our place in the cafeteria line, we were greeted by a friendly peacenik, only one of many bubbly hippies floating around, glad-handing customers. Free smiles and fun hats bobbled to and fro about the restaurant, creating an obnoxiously jubilant atmosphere. I wouldn’t have been surprised to see a “Check your frown at the door” sign as we made our way to the service counter. Adding to the awkwardness, a hired musician plucked some guitar, poorly I might add. I did, however, thoroughly enjoy his improvised rendition of karma chameleon by culture club.
As Patrick, “but you can call me Pattycakes,” spiritedly introduced himself and informed us he would be our sandwich artist, I quickly deduced he was a frolicsome fellow. Let me interject here in saying that we at Steve’s Word embrace homosexuality worldwide, and have many programs celebrating their alternative lifestyle. That said, Pattycakes and his antics added a zing of pizzazz to our dining experience. I couldn’t help but whisper into my brother’s ear that Pattycakes wanted to hang out with him later. I suppose it was inappropriate and ill timed, as we were still square in front of the ordering station, nevertheless, laughter coughed out and we continued along the Potbelly assembly line.
In attempts to manufacture some sort of corporate enforced lively atmosphere, PotBelly employees are required to holler when a patron orders a specialty menu item. What might seem like an annoyance was anything but, as Patrick euphorically revealed a patron’s order five decibels too high, “Banana Chocolate Smoothie!” Eric and I nearly lost our marbles, as hearing a flamboyantly gay man recite these three words is perhaps one of the more humorous things in life. In between laughs we dictated the fixins which a team of too many hipsters planted onto our lunch. Everything but hot peppers. They hurt my tum-tum. We quickly reached the third and final stage of the Potbelly experience, greeted by the manager, the captain of this funship. The forced peppy expression on his grille revealed that he had recently spent some time at a mandatory managerial training seminar. He was adamant about having a trivial conversation with us and all other clientele for that matter. “Hey, you look like brothers, how’s it going guys?” “Good, and you?” “Oh, just hangin’ with my friends,” he responded as if there were a quality assurance camera recording his every word and gesture. Brother and I awkwardly looked toward one another hoping the loon wasn’t lumping us into his circle of friends. Fortunately, the sap gazed down the isle at his hand picked team of 6.25 an hour hands, and they responded with a series of salutes and hurrahs. While this was as touching as a Sylvan Learning Center commercial, I was hungry and wanted my grub. I handed over a few buckazoids; some chicken feed. The sandwich was mine. Before I could crumple my change, force feed it into my wallet, and get on with my life, the manager beckoned, “Turkey and Swiss? Excellent selection, sir.” For a moment, I took pride in my sandwich choosing abilities, but soon thereafter realized this was merely a “Mindful Manager” tip he must have picked up in his employee handbook. My stomach churned.
Bro and I took a seat in an oversized booth. To say the sandwich was delightful would be an understatement. I downed the sandwich quicker than a retard loses his lunch money and proceeded to smear any warm gooey reminisce clinging to the wrapping all over my face. I must say, the deliciousness of the sandwich helped to salvage an experience that perhaps went sour due to what I will call emotion overload. I suppose it could have been worse. They could have been complete assholes however their effervescent demeanor was enough to make me feel embarrassed for myself, the manager, the children of never-neverland, and anyone else that is affiliated with the establishment. I am sorry to say, I will never personally, make another appearance at a Potbellys, however, word is, they have a bike delivery service. As long as the courier doesn’t show up at my place with streamers, flags, and a bike horn, I shall order out from Potbelly’s at least once a week.
