Backstory

I love sandwiches. I love, loved, Jimmy Johns. Imagine my elation when I heard one was going into a small brand new strip center just one exit up Highway 360 near my house in Grand Prairie, Texas.

Anyways, it was a year ago almost, and we just moved into our house. It was lunch and we were pooped and starving. Guess what I ordered? And it came, after ten minutes, beautifully whisked to my new abode. Several bread laden sammys of pure bliss. Even the lady was happy.

This would continue, much like the sup-prime lending practice. All willy-nilly for the better part of 2008. Even into the fleeting NCAA football season & Superbowl. I could count on an Italian Night Club or Turkey Tom arriving at my door, and a decent tip into the pocket of the driver.

Then the market crashed. The Italian vinagretted world ended as I knew it. Something was different when I put in my order February 16th of this year. There was a pause. A long hold, but nonetheless my order was taken and the phone was hung up. 15 minutes later I get a call from the manager at Jimmy Johns 4120 Highway 360, Fort Worth, Texas, who I will call the Black Widow.

Black Widow said I was out of their delivery range and that I could call back tomorrow to speak to the actual manager, and that I would get no Jimmy Johns love that night or any night for that matter.

I was livid, starving, and desperate with a dash of crazy. I launched into how much I loved the sandwiches, how much I ordered, how I was only an exit down the highway, how this time was the only time I've ever had a problem...Black Widow ate my head off, and ate my dinner.

Somepoint thereafter and several F-bombs later, I hung up the phone. Hungry, defeated, I furiously began scribbling a note to Jimmy Johns corporate to express my discontent & anger. I settled for Chinese. No one should have to settle for Chinese.

I'll post my email with their corporate office in the next post.