I'm so, so sorry. See, it was my 21st birthday and my roommates took me out to a bar just down the street from you. That bar serves notoriously stiff drinks. The bartender gave me a free double shot and my friends kept buying me drinks, even after I told them to stop. Then they ordered super nachos, and I ate nearly all of them. I stumbled down the street and used your door to prop myself up, while I violently covered your welcome mat with semi-digested super nachos. You had to work on the morning of May 8th and step over my yak to get into your store. Then you had to clean up my yak before you opened, so no customers would be repulsed and lose their appetites for delicious sub sandwiches. I woke up not even remembering leaving the bar, and my roommates had to inform me of my nasty, despicable deed. Sober, I would rather puke down the front of my own shirt than anywhere near your sandwich shop. I love your sandwiches. I'm sorry.--I, Anonymous
dear employee of my favorite sandwhich shop:
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