This place is a mess. Apparently Papa John’s Pizza has moved into the same space, making the already weird restaurant even weirder. The front door seems to be made of plywood and plexiglass, and swings out violently on windy days. The staff is new and inexperienced. The whole conveyor belt thing that Subway seems to have perfected at other locations is still a mystery to these sandwich packing neophytes. The manager yells at his crew in some language that sounds as if he’s trying to clear his mouth of a giant wad of bubblegum. Steak and cheese cartons go unattended in the microwave and sandwiches pile up at the register while the cashier fumbles with bills and the staff argues over which sub is which. They’re also very stingy with the damn lettuce, as I often find myself begging for one more pinch of the green stuff. If I wasn’t so addicted to that Italian herb and cheese bread, I’d take my ass to a place that didn’t give me three wimpy slices of slimy turkey and three strands of wilted veggie, but lucky for us all, there are like five more of these places within six square blocks. [MF]
765 8th Ave.