So I ordered my favorite meal, the Capellini Pomodoro. When it arrived, I took my fork in hand and gave the pasta a nice stir. Suddenly, a bolt appeared before me. I repeat. A BOLT. A fuck. ing. bolt.
The second I saw it, I stood up and backed away in surprise, nearly toppling my chair. I was stunned beyond belief. A bolt. I mean, of all the unsavory things you have heard of finding in food--hairs, bugs, bandaids--but a metal bolt?
I called the waiter over, explaining the situash, and he said he'd talk to the manager. I expected the manager to rush over on bended knee (though that would be logistically difficult), pleading for my forgiveness, and basically offer me his firstborn. Instead, the manager strolled over to me and the first words out his mouth were, "I'm sorry, but we have no bolts like that of any kind anywhere in our kitchen."
...So, you see, effectively blaming ME for putting the bolt in my food. As if I had been attempting to score a free meal out of it all.
Now, again, let me say. If one wanted a free meal, what might one sneak into their Capellini Pomodoro? A beetle? A short, suspiciously wiry hair? A peanut, claiming deathly allergies? WAIT NO, HAI I KNOW, A FUCKING THREE-INCH-LONG METAL FUCKING BOLT. That's the ticket. That's what I'll slip into my meal. It's foolproof!! It's genius! I'm a fucking wizard!
So yeah, the manager was basically calling me a liar. I did get a free replacement bowl of Cap/Pom out of it, but God only knows what they secretly put in it the second time around. I said a prayer to the Patron Saint of Disgruntled Food Workers and ate my new & improved 100% bolt-free pasta.
But you better believe that I Wrote a Letter. Because I Write Letters. When I experience a great injustice, I write letters, and I GET RESPONSES. I am the queen of writing letters. (Por ejemplo, I got $1,100 out of Fred Meyer once for ruining a roll of film I took in to be developed. I am That Good.)
Anyway, after writing my letter, and receiving a personal call from the Head Honcho of the O.G. herself, I think I could have eaten free for a week there because of how many vouchers I got. She was astonished at my tale of being served Capellini al Bolt, and was
covering her ass truly apologetic.
And since then, I have bravely dined at the Olive Garden other times. I've come to expect certain atrocities: chicken that tastes bafflingly like sausage; salad that is soggy 10 out of every 10 times; lipstick on the water glasses; etc. But at least I've found no more metal equipment or tools of any sort in my mediocre Italian cuisine.
Oh, and if you ever need a letter of complaint written for you, that will be ten (10) American U.S. dollars, please.