GF...On the Road

I don't think this gluten-intolerance could have happened to a worse person. That sounds like a complaint -- it's not. I promise. I think it'll be really good for me. But, more on that later.

I hate confrontation. Hate it. I sometimes imagine myself as Steve Carrell in 40-year-old Virgin whenever he has to do something unsettling. Sweaty palms, quiet voice, darting eyes. I'm sure this isn't how I appear, just how I feel. I don't like causing issues or problems (or things that I perceive as issues or problems). Few things make me more uncomfortable. So, on a road trip home we decided to stop at Jimmy John's for lunch, and I got that uneasy feeling. Yes, I had Googled plenty of gluten-free options. Yes, there were several things for me to eat. But, there is always a risk of cross contamination. New gloves and spatulas would be a must and I was going to have to request them. 

"Maybe I'll be okay with just getting an unwich and not asking for new spatulas," I suggested to my husband. 

"Ashley, you're asking for them. You have to. You've got to get better about this."

Have I mentioned how much I love my husband? Always pushing me to better myself. I truly appreciate it (although, in this moment it made me want to hide in the car and let him make the request for me).

As we approached the counter, Adam ordered first. Then, it was on me.

"Hi (I smiled way too big, trying to make up for my obnoxious request). Can I get a Turkey Tom…unwich, please? And, um, sorry about this, but could you please use a different spatula that hasn't touched any bread? I'm sorry, I have this allergy thing…" I kind of put my hands in the air as if to say, I don't know (which I don't -- I have no clue what I'm doing). 

"Sure, no problem. We'll hook you up," the cashier reassures me. She turns to the kid manning the sandwich counter and tells him to get a new spatula and new gloves (I had forgotten to ask!) to make my unwich. I resist the urge to watch them make it. I probably should have watched, but this was enough "trouble-causing" for me. I walk to the restroom to wash my hands. When I return, my unwich is waiting for me at the table along with my smiling husband. Make-believe confrontation over.

Truth be told, the whole situation wasn't so bad. I know I'm a bit neurotic about these things. I also know it's a restaurant's job to tend to a customer's needs and provide quality service (which they did very well). I just need to remind myself that my health is not an inconvenience (mine or anyone else's). Oh, and for the record, my unwich was quite tasty. And, more importantly, it didn't make me sick. :)