Subway (South Medford) — Restaurant in Medford

My roommate is employed in this store, and with the approval of the manager, named Liz, she sometimes will buy cookies for me with my money and bring them home. Unfortunately, due to the utter incompetence of the people making the cookies, these cookies are often raw to the point of being wet and squishy to the touch, with an audible 'wet batter' noise when you push on them. I have this issue nearly every time that I get cookies from this location. I think I have had fully baked cookies only one time. These raw cookies are disgusting, unappealing, and downright dangerous for consumption. If a raw cookie were eaten by a child or an elderly person, that could potentially kill them.

Furthermore, one of the employees, Brittani, called my phone this morning, looking for my roommate. Since I had her on the phone, I told her about the raw cookies I had been given from her store. She did not in any way apologize for the issue. She told me that it was the oven that was at fault, and the Subway company that was at fault for not replacing the oven. Then she asked for my roommate, who I gave the phone to. After their conversation was over, and Brittani had hung up, I took the phone back, as I am waiting for information on a surgery I am preparing for. A moment later, Brittany called back, saying, "Yeah, this is Brittani, from Subway. The reason your cookies are raw is because your roommate didn't pay for them, she got them for free."

I can gain a bit of information from these sentences.

Brittani deliberately called me, a customer, at 10 in the morning, at home, to harass me further about the cookies I had the nerve to complain about.

Brittani is a liar. I got onto my computer, got into my bank information, and SAW the transaction history, which showed a purchase at Subway for over six dollars, from last night.

When I pointed this out to her, Brittani chose to repeatedly interrupt me, to ignore my complaint, and to claim that she didn't call for me at all, she called to speak to my roommate. Once again, I point out that Brittani is a liar.

I demanded to speak to the manager, Liz, and I was denied that right by Brittani. So I hung up and called the store itself, rather than trying to get Brittany to hand her phone to Liz, since Brittani was more comfortable harassing me with her personal phone than the store's phone.

The first time I called the store, no one answered. The second time, someone picked up the phone and immediately hung up the phone. The third time was truly the charm, and I finally spoke to Liz. Liz proceeded to talk over me, demand to talk to my roommate about MY money, MY cookies, and MY complaint, then told me to call the office, and hung up. I attempted to call back, and my calls are repeatedly going unanswered.

Is this how your employees are trained to deal with customers? Serve them unsafe food, call their personal home telephone numbers to harass them about their complaints, hang up, and dodge their calls? If so, perhaps Subway is not the kind of company that...

It was a fateful night on that cool September 27th evening in the Year of Our Lord, 2020.

I was seated in the backseat of the automobile of she who has given birth to me as we pulled into the drive-thru of this particular Subway location.

Perplexed as I read the menu through my plastic, square frame glasses, I steadied myself for the awkward interaction to come as the person working on the intercom asked for our order. I scanned the menu items, slowly and painstakingly customizing my six inch sub with a plethora of ingredients. I forgot to answer when he asked if I wanted it toasted.

I felt my entire body drowning in regret and disappointment as we pulled up to the drive-thru window, deeply anguished about my lack of toasted sandwich. My mother then asked the kind gentleman at the window if we could somehow get it toasted, even though all the vegetables were all still on there. He then offered to LIGHTLY toast it for me. Upon hearing those words, I could feel my body and soul jump upwards into the clouds with glee. My savior. I eagerly accepted the offer and then received my six inch subway sandwich, stacked with vegetables for the meagre peasant's bargain of four dollars.

Upon holding this beautiful masterwork of bread, cheese, meat, and veggies in my hands, I took a moment to reflect upon the situation. This man was my hero, my emotional savior. Perhaps he was the father figure I needed in my life all along. Perhaps he just works in fast food and was just polite and helpful on the surface. I didn't care. I also work in fast food.

Then I consumed what will be remembered as God's gift to this Earth. The bread, vegetables and other ingredients settled in my stomach and gave me a sense of primal, indefatigable energy as my digestive system absorbed the calories. I felt the strength of a warrior flow throughout my body, and I then took my sword in hand and slayed a dragon.

Blessed be thy...

Today I was introduced to one of the most interesting characters I have met in my 37 years on this planet: he goes by Tyler.

Now Tyler, "JUST Tyler" (I assume he traded his last name to a wizard for an extra chromosome and a handful of beans), is a local sandwich artisan. He toils all day, converting his grit, sweat, and creative juices into tasty carbohydrate-laden masterpieces. Unfortunately, like many artists before him, not only is he underappreciated, but also unforgivably misunderstood.

You see, Tyler is an innovator. Tyler serves his veggie patty sandwiches rock-hard and frozen... intentionally.

I dared to question his methods, assuming Tyler had made a mistake; this was not the case.

Tyler assured me the decision was made purposefully as an exercise in pragmatism. In fact, he was doing me a favor.

"How did I know you hadn't planned to reheat it later?" Tyler explains: Very thoughtful.

Having never been in the presence of such awe-inspiring forethought, I made a secondary mistake by asking if he served any other sandwiches frozen. Well of course he didn't. I had failed (as a heathen would) to realize that the molecular make-up of my veggie patty very exclusively lent itself to being served frozen.

"If you didn't want it frozen you should have specified in the special instructions" This sage was not giving me a fish, but was teaching me the art of fishing to ensure my future.

I asked if he would be bothered by frozen food delivered to his house. "I don't get food delivered," He says. Well of course he doesn't. He's Tyler.

A man of such wisdom and generosity, such poetic gems, I have no doubt that the very Gods and Angels of heaven descend upon Tyler to satiate his every nutritional requirement. How boarish of me to imply he would obtain his food like us mere mortals. I bow before a greater man Tyler. May I one day be worthy of your Ice-cold Rock-Hard...