brown sugar Reese’s cookies


cookies are completely unrelated to ensuing story, but still delicious

I may get stressed easily, but I really try to keep the anger to a minimum.   Tonight, though, I just about took my dad’s old hammer to the washer and dryer he so devotedly worked to install in my apartment (washer’s refusal to effectively enter its spin cycle notwithstanding).

There’s a big meeting at work tomorrow, one for which we’re (I’m) providing lunch, so I figured Subway was a quick and easy way to go.  I sent out a menu, and everyone placed their order; the guy at Subway told me they didn’t have an email address, but I could fax in my order.  Great!  I’m ready.  The order is faxed, with a request to call me to confirm receipt.

An hour later, no call, so I call them.  This is what happened next.

The first seven minutes of this call are spent going back and forth on variations of “Hi, I sent in a fax with an order for tomorrow and I wanted to make sure you received it.”  “You what?”  “I sent a fax.”  “Stacks?”  “No, a fax.  Like with a fax machine.”  “You bought a machine?” “I sent a FAX.  F-A-X. Like you have a phone number and a fax number?”  “You want a sax?”

This is starting to sound suspiciously like a comedy sketch.  I sigh.  “Sorry, but are you messing with me here?”  “No!  No, I’m just trying to understand what you want.”  “I sent an order in via fax.  I’d like to pick it up tomorrow at 11 a.m.”  “You already placed an order?”  “No, I’m trying to do that now.”  “Oh, what do you want?”  “I faxed the order.  Fax.  Like with a fax machine”  “You want to buy a stacking machine?”  (A STACKING MACHINE?)

When I finally got him to understand that it was a fax I was referring to, I got:  “Oh, no, we didn’t get a fax.  Let me call my manager at home.”  [minutes go by; I’m not put on hold]   “No, he didn’t get anything.”

Me: “No, I faxed it to the store.  I didn’t fax it to your manager’s house.”  “Oh!  So you’re not an employee?”  (What?  Employee?)  “NO.  I AM TRYING TO BE A CUSTOMER.  I NEED TO PLACE AN ORDER.”  “Oh, you didn’t place an order?”  “I TRIED TO WITH THE FAX.”  [he puts the phone down for a few minutes]

When he returns, I try to calm down.  “Can I place the order with you over the phone right now?  It’s a lot of sandwiches.”  “You want a long sandwich?”  “No, I have a lot of people who want sandwiches and I want to order them.  Can I do that with you?”  “Yeah, sure!  Wait, did a man or a woman place the order?”  “Why does it matter? It was a fax.”  “What?”  “Never mind.”

He gets ready to take my order.  Someone walks in and tells him something.  He hangs up on me.

Originally, this story ended here.  It was honestly like I had walked into the sandwich shop and asked for a used iPhone and a referral for a good car mechanic in the area.  I called my mom and vented, baked some coffee cake, and resigned myself to spending an hour at Subway at 10 a.m. ordering each sandwich individually.  Then my phone rang.

My friend was back!  “Hey, I’m ready to take your order now.  I’ll make your sandwiches right when I get off the phone.”  “Oh!  Um…okay, sure.  Wait, can you not make them now?  I need them at 11 tomorrow morning.  That’s kind of a while away.”  “Oh, sure.”  At least he’s got follow-through.  I start going through the order.  Each sandwich took five minutes to go through, but at least he was accurate.  Then the phone rings.  It’s his manager.  “Ask him if he got my fax!  Did he get my fax?”  “Oh, um…no, but you can email him the order.”  “Great!  What’s his email address?”  He relays it.  It has a V in it.  I repeat it back, adding “as in Victor” for clarity.  Him: “Ha, that’s funny!  My boss said ‘V as in Victor’ too!”  Bless his heart.  “My boss says email it to him twice in case the first one doesn’t go through.”  (In case the…?  Oh, forget it.)

I email, again with instructions to verify receipt.  I hear nothing.  I’m getting ready to call when the phone rings.  “Hey, um, do you know the address?”  “To the Subway you work at?”  “Yeah.”  “It’s the one on the website, right?”  “Yeah but let me give it to you anyway.”  Sure, buddy.  As long as I get my sandwiches.

He calls back with a question about a sandwich.  Apparently he’s making them now.  At this point, it’s been four hours and what seems like 20 years on the phone speaking what must be two completely different forms of English.  If sandwich freshness becomes an issue, I will be pleading the fifth.

(Completely Unrelated but Definitely Delicious) Brown Sugar Reese’s Cookies

2 1/2 cups flour

1 teaspoon baking soda

1 teaspoon salt

12 ounces butter, softened

4 ounces shortening, softened

1 cup brown sugar, packed

1/2 cup granulated sugar

1 teaspoon vanilla extract

2 eggs

2 cups chopped Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups

1 1/2 cups chopped Reese’s Pieces

Preheat oven to 350 degrees Fahrenheit.  Line two cookie sheets with parchment paper.

In a medium bowl, stir together flour, baking soda, and salt.  Set aside.

In a large bowl, beat butter, shortening, sugars, and vanilla extract until creamy.  Add eggs one at a time, occasionally scraping down the sides of the bowl and beating unti smooth.  Slowly stir in the dry ingredients, then the peanut butter cups.

Drop dough by neat tablespoonfuls on prepared cookie sheets, then sprinkle with Pieces.  Bake 8-10 minutes or until edges are golden and centers are just set.  Cool 5 minutes on pan, then finish cooling on a cooling rack.  Throw at a Subway.