Williamsburger’s manager just called and told me not to ever come back (and may have in fact been threatening me when I erased the message) because I wanted to bring back my half eaten rare burger and trade it for the medium burger I ordered, and also to pick up the cane cola I paid for and did not get. He called me “disturbed”; I can only guess that was a response to me saying I didn’t like the taste of blood.
These guys never get it right, and I’ve been a sporadic but regular customer since their first day. The order is never complete if delivered, the burger is never cooked right if picked up. All this is common knowledge among my six flat-mates and twelve co-workers (who occupy two of the other corners on the same block, respectively)