A New Hope: The Sandwich Artisan of 17 Mile.
A long time…read moreago, after a long day locked in the grind of ordinary work--hyperspace of emails, design reviews, and the usual asteroid field of manufacturing details--I pointed the shuttle homeward toward Cedar Springs. The local Subway outpost sits conveniently close by, at 4116 17 Mile Rd, Suite A, Cedar Springs, MI 49319 (comms: (616) 696-4820). Word had reached me through the frequencies that it was under new ownership and management. Previous visits had been, at best, the culinary equivalent of a busted hyperdrive--more "Empire of disappointment" than rebellion of flavor. Hope, that stubborn little spark, made me decide to try again.
Five minutes out, I finally got the Subway® app locked on target and transmitted my standing order: the meatball sub with spinach, green pepper, onion, and light black olives, double provolone, toasted after the vegetables so they'd soften into that sweet, cooked-down taste of an actual meal rather than a pile of separate components. Subway® vinaigrette, salt, pepper, and Parmesan to finish. Classic go-to, refined by hard-won experience.
I walked in to find one traveler already in the queue. The Sandwich Artisan was building my order when the scanners reported the grim news: the meatballs were out. Without panic or excuses, he sprinted to the rear hold, grabbed a fresh bag, dropped them into the sauce, and microwaved them hot--apologetic, professional, and steady. I told him to take care of the person ahead of me first (even though my order had come through the wire before that traveler entered the shop). Then I waved the person behind me forward. After a brief, friendly argument, she agreed. The delay, I pointed out, only helped my meatballs absorb the tomato sauce--like letting the Force settle before the next move. By the time the second order was finished, my sub was being built, the meatballs looking fully powered up, and the sandwich coming together right.
I wish I could remember the young man's name. He stayed cool, friendly, and respectful the whole time--handling the minor crisis the way a good pilot handles a sudden ion storm. The supply freighter that should have arrived earlier had been postponed until tomorrow; some cheeses were unavailable for the travelers before and after me. None of that was his fault, and he remained as calm as a cucumber in zero-g. The store itself was relatively clean, though a few fruit flies had set up a small outpost of their own (worth clearing before they multiply). I arrived near the end of the dinner rush; the lettuce bin was basically empty, and none of us in that wave ordered it anyway--we all chose spinach by preference. I never saw the state of the lettuce; it had sold out.
Other than the brief meatball delay, the whole thing didn't set me back. After years of less-than-stellar results, this one Sandwich Artisan's professionalism made the difference. Since the place is right near home, I'll be returning rather than making the longer run all the way out to the Rockford station--hoping to find more artisans who handle themselves with the same steady respect.
May the Force (and the properly toasted bread) be with you.