In a textbook example of backfiring advertising, a Quizno’s commercial inspired me to eat at Subway. Quizno’s was copying Subway’s $5 sandwich promotion, but Subway is closer to me. With Hoboken being such a quality sandwich town, I only find myself in the Washington Street Subway location a few times a year. But it’s always very clean, and the staff is always quite friendly and helpful, and tonight was no exception. And I could get a meatball sandwich for $265 less than Bernie spent.
So I’m sitting there, eating my sandwich, drinking my soda, crunching on my Baked Lay’s (sure, I made it a Combo!), reading record reviews from the back of MOJO Magazine. I’m as happy as a bivalve mollusk and minding my own business when two women enter: one in her late 40s I’m guessing, and the other presumably her mother.
“Could we get a grilled cheese?” the younger one asks the woman behind the counter.
My first thought was, had these women never been inside a Subway restaurant before? But because I’m a good citizen, my thoughts quickly turned to helping them. Where could I send them for a decent grilled cheese? Alas, the nearest diner was many blocks away. I felt useless.
The woman behind the counter was baffled by the request. Soon enough, a male staffer joined her, and a discussion took place. “Yes, yes, we can do that,” he said. His confidence allayed my anxiety.
But that was the calm before the storm. “No, we want grilled cheese,” said the customer. “Not grilled chicken.”
She looked over to me with a “Is it me? Or is it them?” expression on her face. I sympathetically offered, “There used to be a diner on the corner where you could get a nice grilled cheese. Subway’s not really the sort of place for that.”
At this point I should add that this particular Subway branch is operated by an all-Indian staff. So perhaps cultural upbringing prevented the sort of improvisation that might have resulted in an acceptable, makeshift grilled cheese. Instead, I watched helplessly as a 6-inch rosemary-garlic roll was cut in half and layered with slices of American cheese. “Anything else on there? Lettuce?” asked the counterman. I shook my head sadly: The grilled-cheese concept was not getting through to this man.
The two customers consulted, and decided to put three slices of salami and some tomato on the sandwich. The lamentable creation was placed open-faced into the mini oven for an incredibly short time. I couldn’t watch anymore. I buried my head in my record reviews as the sandwich was wrapped and the women left the restaurant.
And then I got even sadder. I could’ve sent them to nearby Panera! With the wider selection of bread styles and the panini press, I’m sure a very respectable grilled cheese could’ve been churned out. Oh hindsight, how you mock me.
I finished my meal and thought about typing up this story and getting a chance to use the “sandwiches” label again. And that’s when the craziest thing happened: The younger of the two women re-entered the restaurant. I braced myself for her inevitable gripe that melted cheese on a sub-sandwich roll did not constitute grilled cheese. Perhaps she would also demand her money back. And this time I would redeem myself with my excellent Panera suggestion.
“That sandwich was really good,” said the woman. “Could we get another one?”
Jack Silbert, curator