Subway

English, please! The manager (or owner) is a cold-hearted, condescending snit and the sandwich artists are two mousy relatives (or otherwise extremely submissive and docile creatures) who are obviously fresh off the pan-pacific flight and can speak hardly a word of English. The mice stand in front of you with wide-eyed, deer caught in your high beams at midnight expressions, and sort of mumble-repeat in very soft voices your request back to you. The snooty manager interprets what you've said for them, and shares with you his guesses at what their frightened, blank expressions mean. Nothing in the experience contributes to consumer confidence. The manager makes it clear it's a condescension to serve you, and has the thinly-veiled contempt for natal Americans you see with people who came here with twenty dollars and a backpack of belongings and own three Subways within a decade or two. Something else that bothers me about the manager; he has the flinty eyes and blank expression of someone who grew up in a car crash. He can't be bothered to smile or seem in any way happy to see you. And true to that annoying immigrant "thrift ethos", the manager frugally sticks a single napkin in your bag, and says "next" to rush you along; hoping you won't double-check his cheapskatery. I never let people rush me so I made it a point to look in my bag. I told Mr. Frugal he only provided a single napkin for two foot-long subs. His eyes showed his contempt at my insistence on not being cheated, and he handed me a huge stack of napkins. The sandwiches themselves were similarly frugal and perfectly reflect the owners' commitment to cheating the customer wherever possible.