This was inspired by reading the article above in our local rag, The Burton Mail, announcing that Subway was planning to open until 3am and employ bouncers on its doors at night. I’m sorry about the length, but I may have got rather carried away; I’m afraid to say it is probably indicative of an overactive imagination and too long spent watching episodes of Monty Python...
Alan’s stomach rumbled as he walked briskly through the cold night air. He had been working late at the office and now, at 11pm he had finally finished and, remembering the distinct lack of food in the fridge at home, had decided to pop into town to get a bite to eat at Subway. He had walked along the whole length of the High Street before he realised he hadn’t seen Subway at all. That was odd, he thought. He hadn’t been for ages but he was sure it was on this street. The only place he’d passed which had been open had been a rowdy nightclub. He shrugged and consigned the mistake to a symptom of premature middle age, before deciding to walk back and ask the bouncer on the door of the club if he knew where Subway was. The bouncer was a thickset man with a shaven head, a surly scowl and a beard, called Dave (the bouncer’s name was in fact Phil, but he had a habit of anthropomorphising his facial hair).
“Erm, excuse me, can you tell me where Subway is?” asked Alan, feeling slightly self conscious and more than a little nervous.
“You’re standing right in front of it mate,” said Phil the Bouncer. Alan looked up at the sign above the door for the first time. It read: “Club Sandwich- Subway’s no. 1 fast-food nightclub”. A throbbing bassline vibrated the pavement as the music spilled out into the street and, past the bouncer, a mass of clubbers was visible, their figures illuminated by the bight strobe lights which flashed on and off continuously.
“Club Sandwich?” Alan was stunned by the awfulness of the pun in the name.
“Yeah, it’s awful I know. Everyone says that. Don’t blame me, I didn’t come up with it. You comin’ in or what?”
Alan wasn’t really sure whether he was ‘comin’ in’ or not.
“Er, I suppose so.” he replied.
“Well I’ll need to see some ID.”
“Oh. I’m not sure if I’ve got any on me. I wasn’t expecting... well, a nightclub. I just wanted a sandwich.”
Phil tried unsuccessfully to look sympathetic whilst maintaining his stern grimace. “Yeah it’s quite recent,” he said “Not all that keen on it meself really. It started off small: just opening ‘till 3 and employing a bouncer, like. But you know what management’s like these days, always takes it too far. Before long they’d put in some lights and a stage and before you know it it’s a bleedin’ nightclub isn’t it? Made us a lot of dough, mind and it gives me a job so I’m not complaining. Still, it’s going a bit far isn’t it?”
Alan nodded mutely.
“I hear they’re bringing in stripper poles next week,” Phil muttered wistfully, “what’s the world coming to eh?”
Alan proffered his driving licence cautiously.
“Is this all right?”
“Yep, that’s great. In you go. Enjoy yourself mate!”
Alan stepped over the threshold and into the dimly lit club. He looked around for somewhere to buy a sandwich, but all he could see was the throng of people. He moved to the edge warily.
“Erm excuse me, do you know where I can buy a sandwich?” he asked the heavily tattooed man standing next to him.”
The man looked puzzled “Do they sell sandwiches here?” he asked.
“I think so...” said Alan.
“Oh I dunno. Try the bar.” He pointed to the corner of the room. Alan thanked him and made his way over to the bar, which had behind it the usual selection of beers and spirits but, curiously, no sandwiches. A spotty faced youth stood behind it, looking distinctly bored.
“Do you sell sandwiches?” Alan asked him.
“What?” said the youth as Alan’s words were drowned out by the music.
“I said do you sell sandwiches anymore?” said Alan, a little louder.
“I can’t hear you.”
“Do you sell sandwiches?” yelled Alan.
“I’m sorry, you’ll have to speak up.”
“Oh forget it.” He turned and walked out of the club. Phil gave a low chuckle as he walked past him.
“Going already?” he called as Alan began to walk away.
He received no reply.
“What about your food though?”
Alan stopped and thought about it for a moment.
“I’ll go to Mc Donald’s.”
“Oh I wouldn’t go there, it’s their 70’s night on a Thursday. Don’t think that’d be your kind of thing at all.”
Alan walked away hurriedly, his stream of expletives fortunately drowned out by the music.
Phil sighed and went back to looking fierce again. It was going to be a long night.
