I spend many of my days writing in a Cosi in New York’s Westchester County. The store has wonderful employees, solid food (the bread’s too salty—but salty bread is Cosi’s trademark), OK music, loyal customers.
And a crack den couch.
Seriously, it’s amazing. Over the past year I’ve seen this couch disintegrate from poor to shoddy to crappy to horrific to, now, something that would be banned from a Gary, Indiana crack den. The thing is ripped everywhere. E-v-e-r-y-w-h-e-r-e. Torn along the seams, stuffing popping out. The employees are embarrassed, the customers taken aback. I asked someone who works here why a new couch isn’t brought in, and I was told, “Corporate doesn’t care. As long as they make money, they don’t give a shit.”
Seriously, Cosi, this is pathetic. Do something …
