I’m going to start today’s blog off a little bit differently than usual, rather than a punchy one-sentence introduction, I’ve decided to start off with a disclaimer.
Arson is no laughing matter. In fact, every year there are nearly 500,000 arson fires in the United States. Arson is bad, don’t do it. Not even once.
Okay, that having been said…I think I’m going to burn Subway to the ground.
The Subway in the student center at MIT has always been pretty subpar. It opened like a year and a half ago and was brandied about as a great addition to the student center because Subway is such a popular chain.
Well, that’s all great and fine, but the problem is that this Subway sucks.
- The service is awful.
- The food is poorly prepared.
- The sammitches are skinner than Lindsay Lohan.
None of those are good things. It got so bad, that after about six months they closed down for a week to hire a whole new staff and put them through some twisted Subway-version of boot camp.
At the end of all that, the same three sentiments from above still rang true. Bad service, bad food and not enough of anything (ie: meat, veggies, mayo) on the subs. Gross.
I let it slide for most of last year because there was some cute chick there who kinda dug me and would always charge me $3.50 no matter what I ordered.
Six-inch tuna sub and a water – $3.50.
Footlong steak and cheese with extra meat, two sodas and a bag of chips – $3.50.
So while she was there I was more than willing to let the mediocre service and subpar food slide, because I was getting hooked up with a pretty solid deal. She has since been fired or quit…either way I assume it had something to do with her drawer always coming up short at the end of a shift.
Since she was jettisoned, I’ve grown awfully cranky about not only paying full price for my food, but about the poor state of my food. This past week, however, I hit the breaking point.
Last week I wandered into Subway and ordered a six-inch buffalo chicken sub. The lady repeated my order and I went about ordering all of the toppings one might want on a buffalo chicken sub: ranch, lettuce, peppers and onions.
When I bit into my sub, it wasn’t a buffalo sub at all, but rather a chicken parmesan sub. Needless to say given that it had toppings and condiments for a buffalo chicken sub it was pretty gross.
I was pissed, but let it slide. Clearly she’d just misunderstood.
Well, I went back today and ordered a buffalo chicken sub. This time I made sure to reiterate that I wanted the buffalo chicken.
Buffalo Billy: “Hi, can I get a footlong buffalo chicken sub on the Italian herb and cheese…
Polly Parmesan: “Chicken on Italian herb and cheese.”
Buffalo Billy: “BUFFALO chicken…”
Polly Parmesan: “Yes, buffalo chicken…”
I assumed we were on the same page. I mean, honestly, at that point where could there possibly be any confusion. So she throws down my chicken and some cheese and then goes for the ladle that seemed oddly like the one which had ruined my last sammitch with marinara.
Buffalo Billy: “You’re getting the buffalo sauce, right?!”
Polly Parmesan: “Yes, sauce…”
Buffalo Billy: “The BUFFALO sauce?!”
Polly Parmesan: “Yes, buffalo sauce…”
Again, I thought that things were coming up aces. I mean, she’s clearly repeated everything I’ve said…how could things get screwed up, right?!
She then flopped a big ole spoonful of bright orange, viscous goo onto my sammitch. This is where things get confusing. I vaguely recall the parmesan from a week prior looking just the same, although buffalo sauce is also an unnatural orange hue. So I figured I should check one last time…
Buffalo Billy: “That’s not marinara for the chicken parm, right?! That’s buffalo sauce?!”
Polly Parmesan: “Yes, buffalo sauce…”
She rolled her eyes and threw my sammitch in the toaster oven thingy. When it came out, I couldn’t help but think I’d been duped as it didn’t smell all hot and spicy like buffalo chicken should so I asked, one final time.
Buffalo Billy: “That is buffalo chicken, right?!”
At this point Polly Parm clearly wanted me dead. She let out an exasperated sigh and nodded her head yes.
As such, I took her word for it…because what kind of Subway “Sandwich Expert” would lie about the type of sub they were giving me. I just chalked up my inability to smell the spicy buffalo sauce to the protective sneeze guard and I once again ordered the usual buffalo chicken style toppings: ranch, lettuce, peppers and onions.
I took my sammitch and waddled out into the sun to enjoy the gorgeous afternoon and set-up camp at a picnic table. At first, I was a little disappointed at how flat my sammitch was. It contained a pinch of lettuce, onions and peppers and just the four scrawny pieces of chicken; all of this despite my constant requests for just a little more of each one of the toppings.
Then I took the first big bite and what did I discover.
It was Chicken F’n Parm!!!
Because I was starving and unwilling to deal any further with the collective ineptitude that is Subway, I just gobbled down my ranch-laden chicken parm and thought about the ways in which I intended to burn Subway to the ground.
The list is up to 17…so watch your hypothetical ass, Subway…you’re going down in a blaze of incompetence!!