I feel like I find an inordinate amount of non-food items in my food when I eat out. Plastic, pebbles . . . . . one time I noticed a chip in my plate, and sure enough located the missing piece of dinnerware in a mouthful of meatloaf. A few days ago I found a rubber band sticking out of my Cuban sandwich. More disturbing to me is my reaction to these events. Instead of righteous indignation, invariably I feel almost guilty for finding unwanted objects in my meal. When I noticed the rubber band I immediately thought "Oh no. Do I mention this? I don't want to mention this. The food is good, the waitress was nice, the folks working here seem very nice, I don't want to cause any trouble. I know the waitress is going to feel bad, and start apologizing, and I don't want to cause a fuss. Maybe I should just drop the rubber band on the floor and pretend I never saw it." I have no idea why I react this way. Focus: What have you found in your food- Half of a roach? Coney Island whitefish? The neighbors dog? - and how did you react? Alt focus: If you work or have worked in the food service industry, what is the worst thing a customer has found in their food?
Alt focus: Hair. That is the most frequent problem and a rant for another time (we have a kitchen manager who has his position because of outright nepotism). Bump
My school cafeteria was famous for serving grilled cheese sandwich bricks. I'm sure your school had them too. I was fortunate enough to have an open campus and the means to eat elsewhere for the majority of high school. One day for a reason I can't remember I was stuck eating at school and of course it was grilled damn cheese day. I start gnawing on my hard tack when something isn't right. I pull the sandwich out of my mouth and see blue plastic. It was the part that is ripped off to open a gallon of milk. Not cool lunch ladies. No big deal, but not cool. I figured I would get a different sandwich. So I walk back to the kitchen and say hey you tried to feed me plastic, and I would like a different sandwich. I'm not a dick about it. I wasn't hurt or anything. I just wanted a non-plastic sandwich. The lunch lady proceeded to bitch me out for five minutes about how I was a sissy and it wouldn't hurt me and who cares it's just plastic. I finally got a new sandwich, but I was the one who felt like shit about the experience afterward.
I'll find hair from time to time. I've never found anything else in my food. I worked in the food service industry for a long time, and other than hair I don't recall a customer finding anything in any food that we prepared. Now, a customer may have found something like a piece of lettuce in an order of mozz sticks, or something like that, but certainly nothing gross.
When I was a kid, maybe 8 or so, I got a Dr. Pepper from a beverage barn. We were in the tiny town my mom's from so it was a treat. I finished my drink and opened the lid to eat the crushed ice. When I opened the lid there was a massive roach. I think I started gagging. The weird thing is that I didn't tell anyone. I just threw it away and tried to forget it ever happened. To this day, though, I always open the lid before drinking a fountain drink. That was nasty.
I worked at Subway in college. Back then, we just washed our hands before making the sandwiches, and didn't wear those plastic gloves. I had a cut on my finger, with a bandaid over it. The owner told me to put on one of those finger condom things over it. When I started making the sandwich, it was on. When I rung the guy up at the register, then bandaid was still there, but the little condom thing was not on. I sort of paused briefly, like "oh shit" but kept going. We also used to cut the bread in that trough / flap thing, instead of just in half. So, when I tucked the meat down in the flap, it came off under it. The customer ate in the store and never said anything, and I never said anything.
Focus: At school they must have been lazy with handling the milk cartons because on more than one occasion, I found out they were badly spoiled only after taking a big chug. Good times. God damn one lady I used to work with at the Culver's in my hometown was awful with that.