Dear Jared,

On behalf of the Ketchup Foundation of America, formerly known as the “Catsup” Foundation of America until that damn “cutting edge” Warren waited until I couldn’t make a meeting because of a routine podiatric procedure and held a vote to change the name to something for “21st century,” I’d like to lodge a formal complaint with you and your cohort, Subway.

As I found out on the evening of 14 May Ought-8, you do not promote nor support the distribution of catsup, err, ketchup, the very nectar of life. Besides water, of course. And Yoohoo. Man, I love me some Yoohoo. Anyway, I walked into one of your Subway “restaurants” on said night after a strenuous racquetball game at my local recreation center only to find that the one condiment I love more than running through a sprinkler on a hot summer’s day was nowhere to be seen.

"What would you like on your plain turkey on white, sir?” the sandwich “technician” asked.

“Um, I’ll just have some ketchup on there,” I responded as I flipped through the latest issue of Elle, err, Muscle and Fitness.

“Uh, sir, we don’t have ketchup here,” the hapless fool replied.

“Oh, you’re out, no problem,” I said. “Might you have some in the back?”

“No, sir, we actually don’t serve it here.”

INSERT RECORD SCRATCH NOISE FROM PRINCE’S PURPLE RAIN ALBUM

“But you must have a packet or two lying around somewhere,” I said and, I admit, perhaps it was with a bit of a high pitched squeal.

“No, none, sir.  Sorry.”

And then it goes black.

Well, not really. The police report says words like “blatant vandalism,” “utter disrespect for the physical space of a reputably business space,” and “public urination,” and, well, I pretty much remember all of that stuff. Except for, of course, the “reputable” part. What the hell kind of place doesn’t serve ketchup? Tell me, what doesn’t that fine red sweetness taste good with? It certainly seems to go well with half of your menu. The Cold Cut Trio? Boom.  Grilled chicken? Kabam. Rye with Provolone. Oh yeah. To think that your dirty roach motels actually sell that stuff without the included bonus, nay, necessity of ketchup is ridiculous and infuriating. This sort of anger, in my mind, is blameless.

 Which is why I’m writing. You see, after the whole incident at the restaurant, I need some cash for bail. I figure you promote the place, hence my situation is partly your fault, so, the way I see it, you owe me.  I think my logic is pretty straightforward, no?

Let me know what you think. I only get one phone call and my boy turns 8 on Friday, so you’ll have to respond by letter.

Thanks,

Quinton J. Williamson

PS: I own a lot of land I don’t need in Gary, Indiana.  Your name would sure look good on one of those deeds.