Subway

A-​OK!
I’m not sure what caused the poor reviews of this Subway location, but I’ve always had decent service, fresh food and a satisfying meal here.
Most recently, I had a foot-​long whole wheat tuna sub with all the veggies that basically rocked my world — as much as a healthy sub can, anyway.
The so-​called sandwich artists — though they don’t really call them that since they eliminated the bread v-​cuts — aren’t the quickest creators. To be fair, it wasn’t crowded when I went post-​lunch, and the sandwich was easy to handle and didn’t spill over while I ate it.
An upstairs restroom makes it a great option to stop and eat a meal without feeling rushed.
Good stuff!

Ever since management changed, I hate going here. I recently went and there were two girls working. As soon as I stepped in the store, they looked pissed. They might as well had said, «Ugh, not another customer.» That’s something I can’t stand. Don’t try to make me look like the bad guy. Do your job. You can’t be annoyed when you have a customer. It’s not like they were busy. The place looked like a ghost town.
As I’m ordering, one of the employees comes around the counter to clean the glass and she says something along the lines like, «I wouldn’t have to clean this if these f***ing customers would stop putting their fingers on it.» yikes. She must’ve had her period.
The sandwich was just a regular subway sandwich. Nothing spectacular. Just what I expect it to be. So that’s fine but the customer service? Nah. I don’t like the attitude. Sorry you’re having a bad day, but don’t take it out on me.

Bad: The bread was saggy; refills on soda forbidden; they don’t want to take card even though they can; the manager-​seeming guy bossed around the employee in front of the customers.
Good: The guy who made my sandwich made sure I didn’t get any stems.
Awesome: There is a hidden upstairs to which you may ascend and gaze out upon the confluence of Myrtle, Hancock, and Seneca, forming a five-​pointed star here at the start of our beautiful Ridgewood while you eat your floppy sandwich, dreaming wistfully of your days in Istanbul and its tangled streets, the murmur of the distant Bosphorus, the call of the muezzin from the minarets.