2/5 Keane A. 8 months ago on Google
Ah,
Jersey
Mike's,
a
place
of
promise
that,
upon
our
recent
visit,
reduced
itself
to
the
epitome
of
dismal
customer
service.
The
walls
echoed
with
the
melancholy
of
abandonment
as
we,
famished
guests,
waited
a
quarter
of
an
hour
in
an
empty
chasm
of
disregard.
Patience
turned
to
torment
under
the
unwelcoming
gaze
of
Chronos.
It
was
as
if
we
had
wandered
into
an
episode
from
'The
Twilight
Zone',
invisible
to
the
world.
The
staff,
shrouded
in
the
disarray
of
tardiness
and
the
vestiges
of
missed
alarms,
shambled
around
as
though
touched
by
the
spectral
hand
of
ennui
itself.
They
appeared
like
phantoms
emerging
from
an
ether
of
neglect,
far
removed
from
the
ethos
of
service
with
which
they
should
have
been
imbued.
In
lieu
of
smiles
or
the
faintest
inkling
of
courtesy,
we
were
greeted
with
demeanors
as
icy
and
unnerving
as
a
wintertide
crypt.
It
seemed
as
though
each
staff
member,
in
their
own
unique
way,
bore
an
unsettling
resemblance
to
Poe's
raven,
perched
upon
the
bust
of
Pallas,
coldly
declaring
"Nevermore"
to
the
very
concept
of
customer
satisfaction.
Oh,
Jersey
Mike's,
what
a
pitiful
spectacle
you
have
become,
a
tale
told
by
an
idiot,
full
of
sound
and
fury,
signifying
nothing.
The
gloomy
depths
of
your
customer
service
serve
as
a
stark
reminder
of
how
far
the
noble
art
of
hospitality
has
fallen.
Perhaps,
like
the
House
of
Usher,
it's
time
for
a
catastrophic
downfall
to
allow
for
a
hopeful
rebirth.
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