[ARCHIVED THREAD] - Nasty restaurant stories... (Page 1 of 2)
Posted: 3/19/2012 8:46:35 PM EDT
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Health Inspectors/restaurant workers share your nasty stories you have from the kitchen. Or anyone who had a run with with food poisoning from a gross place.
Saw this list on another site. 4. Serving Rotten Meat
A steakhouse employee in New York says that sometimes not all the meat is as fresh as it should be. "It's an old trick to keep the steak that's past its prime and wait until somebody orders it well done or medium-well," the insider says. "The more you cook the meat, the more you disguise its flavor. When I'm eating out I never order anything higher than medium rare, because I know how the kitchen gets rid of bad meat." 10 Dirty Little Restaurant Secrets 
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I used to work at a pizza place that was kept very clean, but, eventually some roaches moved into the ceiling and walls. Bug guy got called came in and sprayed.......Next couple months, dead roach crumbs would fall out of the ceiling into the doughbowl during mixing  
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| Not really a restaurant story but back in HS (late '80s) I worked in the bakery at Albertson's grocery store. They used to make these things called "fruit bars" that was kind of like a baked energy bar thing. I noticed that they kept a basket in the back with all of the day old baked goods that hadn't sold. Turns out they would take all of that stuff and blend it together with other ingredients to make the fruit bars. |
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When in HS I worked at a restaurant for a short time. The bread that came in a little basket was my favorite. Every table got a free basket to munch on while ordering and waiting. People would half eat and toss it back in the basket. Kids would pick their noses and stuff their fingers in it. Some threw them at each other and the rolls got kicked around. When the table was cleaned for the next seating the remaining bread in the basket was dumped into several waiting 5 gallon buckets. The used bread was cut into little squares, toasted in the ovens and set out as croutons at the salad bar.  |
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Quoted: Anyone who orders a steak well done deserves what they get. This. And out of the 10 years I've been in the game, the worst I've ever really seen was someone drop something on the floor that came out of the fryer and toss it back in the fryer for another 10 seconds or so. I swear, most horror stories are made up, or there is some serious lack of command and leadership in a select few restaurants. I run a pretty tight shift, but I know other guys that would fire someone for even thinking about doing something bad to a guest's food. |
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Quoted: Quoted: I have the cleanest place in town!  the health inspector eats here too! What is an inspection like? White glove type deal checking every inch or a quick look over most times? Checking for proper product hierarchy (ex: raw chicken not stored above fresh produce) Maintain proper temps in coolers (no products in the "danger zone") Making sure products are dated and labeled correctly, and being rotated accordingly Looking for proper sanitation procedures and overall general cleanliness of the restaurant Among many other more minor things... No white gloves, not every square inch, but also not a quick glance around either. Most inspections take between 30 minutes to an hour, sometimes longer. Definitely not a big deal if you're on your game every day, but the health inspectors have an uncanny ability to show up at the most inconvenient times, and you NEVER let one walk around the store by themselves. ETA: Just had mine last week  |
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I have the cleanest place in town! the health inspector eats here too!What is an inspection like? White glove type deal checking every inch or a quick look over most times? Depends on what they are checking. I've had white glove inspections in my fridges and storage areas. Then again, I've always gotten an A rating when I was in food. (I'll admit that I am a hardass to work for. Dont do the job right, or are a useless employee and you are out) |
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Anyone who orders a steak well done deserves what they get. This.
And out of the 10 years I've been in the game, the worst I've ever really seen was someone drop something on the floor that came out of the fryer and toss it back in the fryer for another 10 seconds or so. I swear, most horror stories are made up, or there is some serious lack of command and leadership in a select few restaurants. I run a pretty tight shift, but I know other guys that would fire someone for even thinking about doing something bad to a guest's food. I think a lot of it is people who hear horror stories from a friend who heard it from a friend who heard it from his brother who heard it from another friend blah blah blah, you get the point. For some reason the concept of messing with someone's food is almost a societal cliche of American culture (just think of all the movies that have something gross to do with waiters and food), but I personally have never seen or heard of someone intentionally messing with food. Now, unintentionally is a different story, and probably more likely to get you sick.
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I worked in a deli and the antipasta is just all the expired meat and cheese all cut up and mixed with antipasta dressing. Well. I wonder how Scummy a Person needs to be to serve food to others that they would not serve to thier own Families?? Something has to be critically fucked up. |
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I worked in a deli and the antipasta is just all the expired meat and cheese all cut up and mixed with antipasta dressing. Well. I wonder how Scummy a Person needs to be to serve food to others that they would not serve to thier own Families?? Something has to be critically fucked up. Sometimes you need the job really BAD, and sometimes the management is just critically fucked up. |
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Quoted: Quoted: Quoted: Anyone who orders a steak well done deserves what they get. This. And out of the 10 years I've been in the game, the worst I've ever really seen was someone drop something on the floor that came out of the fryer and toss it back in the fryer for another 10 seconds or so. I swear, most horror stories are made up, or there is some serious lack of command and leadership in a select few restaurants. I run a pretty tight shift, but I know other guys that would fire someone for even thinking about doing something bad to a guest's food. I think a lot of it is people who hear horror stories from a friend who heard it from a friend who heard it from his brother who heard it from another friend blah blah blah, you get the point. For some reason the concept of messing with someone's food is almost a societal cliche of American culture (just think of all the movies that have something gross to do with waiters and food), but I personally have never seen or heard of someone intentionally messing with food. Now, unintentionally is a different story, and probably more likely to get you sick. Yep. I think a big change too is the American culinary explosion that has occurred in the past decade, or so. Food and kitchen work has moved away from a job perspective and into a career type outlook, where you're seeing a lot more young and eager minds looking to inspire and create rather than slack off and just collect a paycheck... Cooks and chefs today take a lot of pride in what they do and love to showcase a well prepared meal. My personal attitude towards cooking for someone has always been "I hope this person gets off on what I made them, when he or she takes that first bite." Thus has been my experience, anyways. |
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A girl I am kinda involved with was just at one of her favorite restaurants eating lunch with her aunt.
Her aunt ordered the soup and salad which is a buffet style set-up like Ruby Tuesday's. She was eating her Potato chowder when she bit into something hard, really hard. She spit it out and it was a tooth, a meth tooth complete with a filling and active decay... I don't know if I am ever going to eat there again. 
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I worked at a huge hotel/restaurant/banquet sort of place many years ago. I remember one time the power went out, so they had everybody put the meat in the linen room so it wouldn't be condemned. Apparently when there is a power outage the health inspectors come out to check the temp of the refrigerators. That meat sat in the linen room for hours so it could be saved, instead of in the closed refrigerators. Guess it was a better gamble.
That place also would have whole pigs, and sides of beef outside, with flies on them while waiting to prep the meat for banquets. NASTY. I'm never surprised when I read these threads, and articles. |
| I heard at the Brown hotel here in louisville this past weekend 12 people got what kid of poisoning? Why nicotine of course! Apparently the chef decided to play around with some kind of tobacco infusion or nicotine in the sauce shit. 12 diner yacking at their tables is a great way to fuck a restaraunt. |
When I lived in Baltimore, the experminator that our landlord used was this old guy. He was retired, but spent his whole career working for McCormick Spice Co. (obviously when they were still in Baltimore). I was new to the area and asked him what local restaurants did he like. He said "none. I've been to them all and whether it's Mortons or McDonalds, they all have the same pest problems". 
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In H.S. I washed dishes and bussed tables at a restaurant in an upscale dept store.
Policy was food was 1/2 price, but burgers, hot dogs, fries... were free while working. Naturally, I took advantage of this. It was common to open the drawer for a burger and see the ones in front were green.
Of course, I reached to the back, and always cooked my own. |
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Restaurants get a bad rep. If all of them were half as bad as many on ARFCOM think they are, then there would be a whole lot of sick people walking about. Not true,I don't think a person can get sick from eating some cooks boogers, spit or toenails in their soup. It's just disgusting.
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speaking of nasty.....and funny.....so funny I wet myself from howling in laughter, all these years later, but have any of you read the Ryan's Steakhouse Story???
Thank me later.........yes, the guy is that good. (not sure if he is entirely truthful here or not, who cares right???) The direct link: Ryan's Steakhouse Incident The Steakhouse Incident Now, I know that there is a lot of embellishment that occurs on this group and I am aware that a small number of things are perhaps sheer fabrication, but I have a story to tell that is the absolute truth. Funniest damn thing that has ever happened to me. A couple of weeks ago we decided to cruise out to Ryan's Steakhouse for dinner. It was a Wednesday night which means that macaroni and beef was on the hot bar, indeed the only night of the week that it is served. Wednesday night is also kid's night at Ryan's, complete with Dizzy the Clown wandering from table to table entertaining the little bastards. It may seem that the events about to be told have little connection to those two circumstances, but all will be clear in a moment. We went through the line and placed our orders for the all-you-can-eat hot bar then sat down as far away from the front of the restaurant as possible in order to keep the density of kids down a bit. Then I started my move to the hot bar. Plate after plate of macaroni and beef were consumed that evening, I tell you –– in all, four heaping plates of the pseudo-Italian ambrosia were shoved into my belly. I was sated. Perhaps a bit too much, however. I had not really been feeling well all day, what with a bit of gas and such. By the time I had eaten four overwhelmed plates of food, I was in real trouble. There was so much pressure on my diaphragm that I was having trouble breathing. At the same time, the downward pressure was building. At first, I thought it was only gas which could have been passed in batches right at the table without to much concern. Unfortunately, that was not to be. After a minute or so it was clear that I was dealing with explosive diarrhea. It's amazing how grease can make its way through your intestines far faster than the food which spawned the grease to begin with, but I digress... I got up from the table and made my way to the bathroom. Upon entering, I saw two sinks immediately inside the door, two urinals just to the right of the sinks, and two toilet stalls against the back wall. One of them was a handicapped bathroom. Now, normally I would have gone to the handicapped stall since I like to stretch out a bit when I take a good shit, but in this case, the door lock was broken and the only thing I hate worse than my wife telling me to stop cutting my toenails with a pair of diagonal wire cutters is having someone walk in on me while I am taking a shit. I went to the normal stall. In retrospect, I probably should have gone to the large, handicapped stall even though the door would not lock because that bit of time lost in making the stall switch proved to be a bit too long under the circumstances. By the time I had walked into the regular stall, the pressure on my ass was reaching Biblical proportions. I began "The Move." For those women who may be reading this, let me take a moment to explain "The Move." Men know exactly what their bowels are up to at any given second. And when the time comes to empty the cache, a sequence of physiological events occur that can not be stopped under any circumstances. There is a move men make that involves simultaneously approaching the toilet, beginning the body turn to position ones ass toward said toilet, hooking ones fingers into ones waistline, and pulling down the pants while beginning the squat at the same time. It is a very fluid motion that, when performed properly, results in the flawless expulsion of shit at the exact same second that ones ass is properly placed on the toilet seat. Done properly, it even assures that the choad is properly inserted into the front rim of the toilet in the event that the piss stream lets loose at the same time; it is truly a picture of coordination rivaling that of a skilled ballet dancer. I was about half-way into "The Move" when I looked down at the floor and saw a pile of vomit that had been previously expelled by one of those little bastards attending kids night; it was mounded up in the corner so I did not notice it when I had first walked into the stall. Normally, I would not have been bothered by such a thing, but I had eaten so much and the pressure upward was so intense, that I hit a rarely experienced gag reflex. And once that reflex started, combined with the intense pressure upward caused by the bloated stomach, four plates of macaroni and beef started coming up for a rematch. What happened next was so quick that the exact sequence of events are a bit fuzzy, but I will try to reconstruct them as best I can. In that moment of impending projectile vomiting, my attention was diverted from the goings-on at the other end. To put a freeze frame on the situation, I was half crotched down to the toilet, pants pulled down to my knees, with a load of vomit coming up my esophagus. Now, most of you know that vomiting takes precedence over shit no matter what is about to come slamming out of your ass. It is apparently an evolutionary thing since shitting will not kill you, but vomiting takes a presence of mind to accomplish so that you do not aspirate any food into the bronchial tubes and perhaps choke to death. My attention was thus diverted. At that very split second, my ass exploded in what can only be described as a wake...you know, as in a newspaper headline along the lines of "30,000 Killed In Wake of Typhoon Fifi" or something similar. In what seemed to be most suitably measured in cubic feet, an enormous plug of shit the consistency of thick mud with embedded pockets of greasy liquid came flying out of my ass. But remember, I was only half-way down on the toilet at that moment. The shit wave was of such force and of just such an angle in relation to the back curve of the toilet seat that it ricocheted off the back of the seat and slammed into the wall at an angle of incidence equal to the angle at which it initially hit the toilet seat. Then I sat down. Recall that when that event occurred, I was already half-way to sitting anyway and had actually reached the point of no return. I have always considered myself as relatively stable gravitationally, but when you get beyond a certain point, you're going down no matter how limber you may be. Needless to say, the shit wave, though of considerable force, was not so sufficient so as to completely glance off the toilet seat and deposit itself on the walls, like what you would see when hitting a puddle with a high-pressure water hose; even though you throw water at the puddle, the puddle gets moved and no water is left to re-form a puddle. There was a significant amount of shit remaining on about one-third of the seat rim which I had now just collapsed upon. Now, back to the vomit... While all the shitting was going on, the vomit was still on its way up. By the time I had actually collapsed on the toilet, my mouth had filled up with a goodly portion of the macaroni and beef I had just consumed. OK, so what does the human body instinctively do when vomiting? One bends over. So I bent over. I was still sitting on the toilet, though. Therefore, bending over resulted in me placing my head above my now slightly-opened legs, positioned in between my knees and waist. Also directly above my pants which were now pulled down to a point just midway between my knees and my ankles. Oh, did I mention that I was wearing not just pants, but sweat pants with elastic on the ankles. In one mighty push, some three pounds of macaroni and beef, two or three Cokes, and a couple of Big, Fat Yeast Rolls were deposited in my pants...on the inside...with no ready exit at the bottom down by my feet. In the next several seconds, there were a handful of farts, a couple of turds, and the event ended, yet I was now sitting there with my pants full of vomit, my back covered in shit that had bounced off the toilet, spattered on three ceramic-tiled walls to a height of about five feet, and still had enough force to come back at me, covering the back of my shirt with droplets of liquid shit. All while thick shit was spread all over my ass in a ring curiously in the shape of a toilet seat. And there was no fucking toilet paper. What could I do but laugh. I must have sounded like a complete maniac to the guy who then wandered into the bathroom. He actually asked if I was OK since I was laughing so hard I must have sounded like I was crying hysterically. I calmed down just enough to ask him if he would get the manager. And told him to have the manager bring some toilet paper. When the manager walked in, he brought the toilet paper with him, but in no way was prepared for what happened next. I simply told him that there was no way I was going to explain what was happening in the stall, but that I needed several wet towels and I needed him to go ask my wife to come help me. I told him where we were sitting and he left. At that point, I think he was probably assuming that I had pissed just a bit in my pants or something similarly benign. About two minutes later, my wife came into the bathroom not knowing what was wrong and with a certain amount of worry in her voice. I explained to her (still laughing and having trouble getting out words) that I had a slight accident and needed her help. Knowing that I had experienced some close calls in the past, she probably assumed that I had laid down a small turd or something and just needed to bring the car around so we could bolt immediately. Until I asked her, I'm sure she had no idea that she was about to go across the street and purchase me new underwear, new socks, new pants, a new shirt, and (by that time due to considerable leakage around the elastic ankles thingies) new sneakers. And she then started to laugh herself since I was still laughing. She began to ask for an explanation as to what had happened when I promised her that I would tell her later, but that I just needed to handle damage control for the time being. She left. The manager then came back in with a half-dozen wet towels and a few dry ones. I asked him to also bring a mop and bucket upon which he assured me that they would clean up anything that needed to be cleaned. Without giving him specific details, I explained that what was going on in that stall that night was far in excess of what I would expect anyone to deal with, what with most of the folks working at Ryan's making minimum wage of just slightly above. At that moment, I think it dawned on him exactly the gravity of the situation. Then that manager went so far above the call of duty that I will be eternally grateful for his actions. He hooked up a hose. Fortunately, commercial bathrooms are constructed with tile walls and tile floors and have a drain in the middle of the room in order to make clean up easy. Fortunately, I was in a commercial bathroom. He hooked up the hose to the spigot located under the sink as I began cleaning myself up with the wet towels. Just as I was finishing, my wife got back with the new clothes and passed them into the stall, whereupon I stuffed the previously worn clothing into the plastic bag that came from the store, handing the bag to my wife. I finished cleaning myself off and carefully put on my new clothes, still stuck in the stall since I figured that it would be in bad taste to go out of the stall to get redressed in the event I happened to be standing there naked and some little bastard kid walked in. At that point, I had only made a mess; I had not yet committed a felony and intended to keep it that way. When I finished getting dressed, I picked up the hose and cleaned up the entire stall, washing down the remains toward the drain in the center of the room. I put down the hose and walked out of the bathroom. I had intended to go to the manager and thank him for all he had done, but when I walked out, three of the management staff were there to greet me with a standing ovation. I started laughing so hard that I thought I was going to throw up again, but managed to scurry out to the car where my wife was now waiting to pick me up by the front door. The upshot of all this is that I strongly recommend eating dinner at Ryan's Steak House. They have, by far, the nicest management staff of any restaurant in which I have eaten. Steve Crisp [email protected] |
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I've found broken glass in a salad before... it happens. I guess it was being prepared when someone dropped something in the kitchen and it shattered... pieces went flying. Luckily I didn't eat it. I got a free dessert. I warned the waitress to wanr the kitchen staff to be more careful.
I've found bugs in salad before. I usually ask the waitress if I have to pay extra for it... I usually get free dessert. I realize gnats and slugs (that's what I've found) like lettuce. I do too but they eat their fill. I'll take a free appetizer. My brother manages a restaurant and he's got some stories... this one time, he seated 2 "Amish" women and they were giving his server a hard time... they ordered steak and it was delivered to their table. One of them was having a fit and he went over to see what the problem was. The woman points to her plate and says "there's an eyelash on my steak. I'm NOT paying for this." My brother apologizes and asks her a question, "ma'am, did the steak arrive to your table with the steak sauce on it?" She replied, "no, I put it on there myself." He chuckled, "if you'll look, the eyelash is sticking up in the steak sauce... the same steak sauce you just said YOU put on the steak. The eyelash is YOURS. I'm not able to give you a free meal this evening. Is there anything else I can help you with?" The ladies began to have a fit and he mentioned that he was more than willing to call the police and have them assess the situation. (His restaurant is very popular with local police because he takes care of them). The ladies paid their check and left. |
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Anyone who orders a steak well done deserves what they get. This.
And out of the 10 years I've been in the game, the worst I've ever really seen was someone drop something on the floor that came out of the fryer and toss it back in the fryer for another 10 seconds or so. I swear, most horror stories are made up, or there is some serious lack of command and leadership in a select few restaurants. I run a pretty tight shift, but I know other guys that would fire someone for even thinking about doing something bad to a guest's food. wing hunt? |
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Used to work in a big buffett chain. By the Power of Greyskull, an evil family who owned a tow truck business came in to eat.....the same company who stole parts off my stepson's wrecked car and over billed us. Gross, crap stained toothless ogre asks for O.J. Normally I do not go get juice for customers but  I can make an exception. I get the O.J., run behind server station and promptly pull out the twig and berries and dunk em in his cup until my proud boys are lopin' over the sides. I then proceed with the utmost professionalism to give him the cup and watch in awe as he chugs it in a single gulp, wipes his lips, and asks for another round. Not losing it was the hardest thing to do.Any other crimes you would like to publicly confess?
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speaking of nasty.....and funny.....so funny I wet myself from howling in laughter, all these years later, but have any of you read the Ryan's Steakhouse Story??? Thank me later.........yes, the guy is that good. (not sure if he is entirely truthful here or not, who cares right???) The direct link: Ryan's Steakhouse Incident The Steakhouse Incident Steve Crisp [email protected] |
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Long ago and Far away, I had a restaurant in Savannah Ga. Which has the distinction of being the roach and rodent capitol of the south east if not the world.
Anyway , one day at lunch time this well dressed women hunts me down and is shaking a glass of iced tea at me. There in the ice is a very tiny roach. She is upset and trying to make a scene over this trespasser on ice. I look at the lady a tell her," there's no extra charge for the protein". I was just teasing but she did not appreciate the humor. Let her have her meal on the house. I wonder if she ever came back?? GD |
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Quoted: Used to work in a big buffett chain. By the Power of Greyskull, an evil family who owned a tow truck business came in to eat.....the same company who stole parts off my stepson's wrecked car and over billed us. Gross, crap stained toothless ogre asks for O.J. Normally I do not go get juice for customers but I can make an exception. I get the O.J., run behind server station and promptly pull out the twig and berries and dunk em in his cup until my proud boys are lopin' over the sides. I then proceed with the utmost professionalism to give him the cup and watch in awe as he chugs it in a single gulp, wipes his lips, and asks for another round. Not losing it was the hardest thing to do.The last guy that came on here and publicly admitted to fucking with someone's food was banned. |
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I've worked in fast food since I began high school. I've never seen anything bad at my restaurant. There's the occasional new kid who will try to touch his face or hair while in a food prep position, but we typically stomp that out of them the first time it happens, as a trainer will be with them for their first few shifts. I'm afraid to eat at mom and pop type restaurants, but eat fast food 3-5 times a week. Policies in place at fast food restaurants are usually far above what most health departments require. (Policies are usually national, thus they must adhere to the most stringent departments). I work at a franchised fast food restaurant, but given how far up our ass head office is most of the time, everything needs to run safely all of the time. Typically, a history of poor performance on health inspections or third party health and safety audits will cause head office to take your restaurant.
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Stories...I gots them. Like the Chinese restaurant where the wife of the owner left a, um,...used feminine hygiene product on the counter. Or the restaurant where the sewer busted in the basement, and instead of fixing it the owner put down plastic milk boxes to walk on so he could keep his feet dry while walking to get stuff from his storage room. The walls were crawling with every type of cockroach known to exist in Utah. He fumigated, but the cockroaches survived by crawliing deep into the walls; when you opened up the door to the basement they came crawling out of the cracks onto your hands. This same restaurant was big with transients and winos because they were in downtown SLC and offered a $5 all-you-can buffet. The owner saved money by scraping the uneaten food off the plates back into the buffet line. I watched him do it, and he was surprised it was a problem. The worst thing in a restaurant isn't in the kitchen, it's the grease trap. If they are not cleaned out regularly they will overflow and the smell is overpowering, especially on a summer day. If they have a grease trap inside the dish room it's easy to tell if they need to clean it out. Most restaurants are in decent condition, it's the practices of the staff that makes them gross or dangerous. In general, the mom-and-pop places which have the best-tasting food tend to have the worst sanitation; they fix food just like they did in the "old country", and under the same conditions, too. The cleanest, best-run restaurant I have ever inspected was...get ready haters...Olive Garden. They are in a class above all others, although most corporate chains run tight ships because they don't want to get sued or have a Jack-in-the-Box type fiasco. |
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speaking of nasty.....and funny.....so funny I wet myself from howling in laughter, all these years later, but have any of you read the Ryan's Steakhouse Story??? Thank me later.........yes, the guy is that good. (not sure if he is entirely truthful here or not, who cares right???) The direct link: Ryan's Steakhouse Incident The Steakhouse Incident Now, I know that there is a lot of embellishment that occurs on this group and I am aware that a small number of things are perhaps sheer fabrication, but I have a story to tell that is the absolute truth. Funniest damn thing that has ever happened to me. A couple of weeks ago we decided to cruise out to Ryan's Steakhouse for dinner. It was a Wednesday night which means that macaroni and beef was on the hot bar, indeed the only night of the week that it is served. Wednesday night is also kid's night at Ryan's, complete with Dizzy the Clown wandering from table to table entertaining the little bastards. It may seem that the events about to be told have little connection to those two circumstances, but all will be clear in a moment. We went through the line and placed our orders for the all-you-can-eat hot bar then sat down as far away from the front of the restaurant as possible in order to keep the density of kids down a bit. Then I started my move to the hot bar. Plate after plate of macaroni and beef were consumed that evening, I tell you –– in all, four heaping plates of the pseudo-Italian ambrosia were shoved into my belly. I was sated. Perhaps a bit too much, however. I had not really been feeling well all day, what with a bit of gas and such. By the time I had eaten four overwhelmed plates of food, I was in real trouble. There was so much pressure on my diaphragm that I was having trouble breathing. At the same time, the downward pressure was building. At first, I thought it was only gas which could have been passed in batches right at the table without to much concern. Unfortunately, that was not to be. After a minute or so it was clear that I was dealing with explosive diarrhea. It's amazing how grease can make its way through your intestines far faster than the food which spawned the grease to begin with, but I digress... I got up from the table and made my way to the bathroom. Upon entering, I saw two sinks immediately inside the door, two urinals just to the right of the sinks, and two toilet stalls against the back wall. One of them was a handicapped bathroom. Now, normally I would have gone to the handicapped stall since I like to stretch out a bit when I take a good shit, but in this case, the door lock was broken and the only thing I hate worse than my wife telling me to stop cutting my toenails with a pair of diagonal wire cutters is having someone walk in on me while I am taking a shit. I went to the normal stall. In retrospect, I probably should have gone to the large, handicapped stall even though the door would not lock because that bit of time lost in making the stall switch proved to be a bit too long under the circumstances. By the time I had walked into the regular stall, the pressure on my ass was reaching Biblical proportions. I began "The Move." For those women who may be reading this, let me take a moment to explain "The Move." Men know exactly what their bowels are up to at any given second. And when the time comes to empty the cache, a sequence of physiological events occur that can not be stopped under any circumstances. There is a move men make that involves simultaneously approaching the toilet, beginning the body turn to position ones ass toward said toilet, hooking ones fingers into ones waistline, and pulling down the pants while beginning the squat at the same time. It is a very fluid motion that, when performed properly, results in the flawless expulsion of shit at the exact same second that ones ass is properly placed on the toilet seat. Done properly, it even assures that the choad is properly inserted into the front rim of the toilet in the event that the piss stream lets loose at the same time; it is truly a picture of coordination rivaling that of a skilled ballet dancer. I was about half-way into "The Move" when I looked down at the floor and saw a pile of vomit that had been previously expelled by one of those little bastards attending kids night; it was mounded up in the corner so I did not notice it when I had first walked into the stall. Normally, I would not have been bothered by such a thing, but I had eaten so much and the pressure upward was so intense, that I hit a rarely experienced gag reflex. And once that reflex started, combined with the intense pressure upward caused by the bloated stomach, four plates of macaroni and beef started coming up for a rematch. What happened next was so quick that the exact sequence of events are a bit fuzzy, but I will try to reconstruct them as best I can. In that moment of impending projectile vomiting, my attention was diverted from the goings-on at the other end. To put a freeze frame on the situation, I was half crotched down to the toilet, pants pulled down to my knees, with a load of vomit coming up my esophagus. Now, most of you know that vomiting takes precedence over shit no matter what is about to come slamming out of your ass. It is apparently an evolutionary thing since shitting will not kill you, but vomiting takes a presence of mind to accomplish so that you do not aspirate any food into the bronchial tubes and perhaps choke to death. My attention was thus diverted. At that very split second, my ass exploded in what can only be described as a wake...you know, as in a newspaper headline along the lines of "30,000 Killed In Wake of Typhoon Fifi" or something similar. In what seemed to be most suitably measured in cubic feet, an enormous plug of shit the consistency of thick mud with embedded pockets of greasy liquid came flying out of my ass. But remember, I was only half-way down on the toilet at that moment. The shit wave was of such force and of just such an angle in relation to the back curve of the toilet seat that it ricocheted off the back of the seat and slammed into the wall at an angle of incidence equal to the angle at which it initially hit the toilet seat. Then I sat down. Recall that when that event occurred, I was already half-way to sitting anyway and had actually reached the point of no return. I have always considered myself as relatively stable gravitationally, but when you get beyond a certain point, you're going down no matter how limber you may be. Needless to say, the shit wave, though of considerable force, was not so sufficient so as to completely glance off the toilet seat and deposit itself on the walls, like what you would see when hitting a puddle with a high-pressure water hose; even though you throw water at the puddle, the puddle gets moved and no water is left to re-form a puddle. There was a significant amount of shit remaining on about one-third of the seat rim which I had now just collapsed upon. Now, back to the vomit... While all the shitting was going on, the vomit was still on its way up. By the time I had actually collapsed on the toilet, my mouth had filled up with a goodly portion of the macaroni and beef I had just consumed. OK, so what does the human body instinctively do when vomiting? One bends over. So I bent over. I was still sitting on the toilet, though. Therefore, bending over resulted in me placing my head above my now slightly-opened legs, positioned in between my knees and waist. Also directly above my pants which were now pulled down to a point just midway between my knees and my ankles. Oh, did I mention that I was wearing not just pants, but sweat pants with elastic on the ankles. In one mighty push, some three pounds of macaroni and beef, two or three Cokes, and a couple of Big, Fat Yeast Rolls were deposited in my pants...on the inside...with no ready exit at the bottom down by my feet. In the next several seconds, there were a handful of farts, a couple of turds, and the event ended, yet I was now sitting there with my pants full of vomit, my back covered in shit that had bounced off the toilet, spattered on three ceramic-tiled walls to a height of about five feet, and still had enough force to come back at me, covering the back of my shirt with droplets of liquid shit. All while thick shit was spread all over my ass in a ring curiously in the shape of a toilet seat. And there was no fucking toilet paper. What could I do but laugh. I must have sounded like a complete maniac to the guy who then wandered into the bathroom. He actually asked if I was OK since I was laughing so hard I must have sounded like I was crying hysterically. I calmed down just enough to ask him if he would get the manager. And told him to have the manager bring some toilet paper. When the manager walked in, he brought the toilet paper with him, but in no way was prepared for what happened next. I simply told him that there was no way I was going to explain what was happening in the stall, but that I needed several wet towels and I needed him to go ask my wife to come help me. I told him where we were sitting and he left. At that point, I think he was probably assuming that I had pissed just a bit in my pants or something similarly benign. About two minutes later, my wife came into the bathroom not knowing what was wrong and with a certain amount of worry in her voice. I explained to her (still laughing and having trouble getting out words) that I had a slight accident and needed her help. Knowing that I had experienced some close calls in the past, she probably assumed that I had laid down a small turd or something and just needed to bring the car around so we could bolt immediately. Until I asked her, I'm sure she had no idea that she was about to go across the street and purchase me new underwear, new socks, new pants, a new shirt, and (by that time due to considerable leakage around the elastic ankles thingies) new sneakers. And she then started to laugh herself since I was still laughing. She began to ask for an explanation as to what had happened when I promised her that I would tell her later, but that I just needed to handle damage control for the time being. She left. The manager then came back in with a half-dozen wet towels and a few dry ones. I asked him to also bring a mop and bucket upon which he assured me that they would clean up anything that needed to be cleaned. Without giving him specific details, I explained that what was going on in that stall that night was far in excess of what I would expect anyone to deal with, what with most of the folks working at Ryan's making minimum wage of just slightly above. At that moment, I think it dawned on him exactly the gravity of the situation. Then that manager went so far above the call of duty that I will be eternally grateful for his actions. He hooked up a hose. Fortunately, commercial bathrooms are constructed with tile walls and tile floors and have a drain in the middle of the room in order to make clean up easy. Fortunately, I was in a commercial bathroom. He hooked up the hose to the spigot located under the sink as I began cleaning myself up with the wet towels. Just as I was finishing, my wife got back with the new clothes and passed them into the stall, whereupon I stuffed the previously worn clothing into the plastic bag that came from the store, handing the bag to my wife. I finished cleaning myself off and carefully put on my new clothes, still stuck in the stall since I figured that it would be in bad taste to go out of the stall to get redressed in the event I happened to be standing there naked and some little bastard kid walked in. At that point, I had only made a mess; I had not yet committed a felony and intended to keep it that way. When I finished getting dressed, I picked up the hose and cleaned up the entire stall, washing down the remains toward the drain in the center of the room. I put down the hose and walked out of the bathroom. I had intended to go to the manager and thank him for all he had done, but when I walked out, three of the management staff were there to greet me with a standing ovation. I started laughing so hard that I thought I was going to throw up again, but managed to scurry out to the car where my wife was now waiting to pick me up by the front door. The upshot of all this is that I strongly recommend eating dinner at Ryan's Steak House. They have, by far, the nicest management staff of any restaurant in which I have eaten. Steve Crisp [email protected] 
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I used to work at a pizza place that was kept very clean, but, eventually some roaches moved into the ceiling and walls. Bug guy got called came in and sprayed.......Next couple months, dead roach crumbs would fall out of the ceiling into the doughbowl during mixing The daily special was always free black olives no matter what you ordered
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I worked in a deli and the antipasta is just all the expired meat and cheese all cut up and mixed with antipasta dressing. Well. I wonder how Scummy a Person needs to be to serve food to others that they would not serve to thier own Families?? Something has to be critically fucked up. I've eaten it. The stuff isn't actually bad just expired because it has to last a certain amount of time in someones fridge when they get home. Usually about 7 days. Stuff goes out of date today but isn't actually bad for another week. |
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When I lived in Baltimore, the experminator that our landlord used was this old guy. He was retired, but spent his whole career working for McCormick Spice Co. (obviously when they were still in Baltimore). I was new to the area and asked him what local restaurants did he like. He said "none. I've been to them all and whether it's Mortons or McDonalds, they all have the same pest problems". The WHO?????
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[ARCHIVED THREAD] - Nasty restaurant stories... (Page 1 of 2)
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