Every Friday I make the pilgrimage to Port of Subs (comparable to Subway but cheaper and fresher) for my two-foot tuna sandwich. And every Friday the same cute Hungarian gypsy girl from Ohio smiles awkwardly and puts together my order.
Our relationship is like a serial, split into two-minute weekly segments. It’s surprisingly difficult to fish out likes, dislikes, availability, etc., from such encounters. And the variable foot traffic complicates things further. Stupid paying customers.