Vermin in our food

Last Sunday I had dinner with the Jeffways. We always have a good time together, and sometimes bizarre and exciting things happen. Readers of Look Me in the Eye may recognize the name . . .Bob and I were engineers together, back at Milton Bradley. I met Bob, Celeste, and three of their five kids at Joes Pizza for a fine meal of pizza and spaghetti. Afterwards, we went in search of their daughter Alex at a local ice cream establishment.

We found her sitting with two girlfriends at the Florence Friendly’s. The females had just begun ingesting ice cream treats as we sat down around them. Alex is normally jolly, but at that moment they were focused on food and the sight of us made her focus even harder. Halfway through her sundae, Alex paused. For some reason – we may never know why – she glanced down at her spoon. That’s when the shrieking started.

Buuuuuuuuuuuuug! Normally a three letter word, Bug was stretched and extended for high volume delivery. It was like a song, but off key and obnoxious. The other patrons turned to see what was going on.

What was she yelling about? Alex was, after all, a teenage girl. She was right at the age where unpredictable audio emissions just occurred. But I saw it wasn’t just her . . all three table mates were showing signs of extreme agitation. Something was up.

I had seen responses like that in the past, when I was standing at a crowded bar, and an inebriated patron sprayed vomit across the room. But no one had vomited tonight. Yet.

I looked closer. Still, the source of their distress remained invisible. Yet the table was erupting. The three girls were wriggling and squealing. The only guy was reaching for something in his pocket. A bottle? A gun? A phone?

Seconds later he was pointing a camera at Alex’s sundae. Following the camera’s aim, I saw the creature. Half an inch long, vile, and black. Emerging from beneath the fudge. Check him out:



The verminous thing stood defiantly atop a curl of chocolate, under the harsh fluorescent light. Insect King of the Sundae dish. All at once, everyone had something to say.

Bob observed that the Mexicans dip insects in chocolate and sell them

I was glad I had not yet eaten anything served by that particular establishment.

The girls all said, Gross!!

Mary, the youngest Jeffway, offered up the bug with a smile, but there were no eaters



The waiter said, I’m just glad it’s my last day here. So I don’t care.

Alex backed away from the food. Her half-eaten dish sat on the table. In fact, all the dishes sat on the table. People’s enthusiasm for dining had gone. Or more likely, their confidence in the restaurant food supply had evaporated. After all, if their ice cream was infested, what could you expect in the foods that are more prone to spoilage. I shuddered at the thought.

The abandoned table . . .




Everyone else wondered how many insects they’d eaten, before this one got out alive? Other diners gathered round for inspection before fading quietly into the night. All over the restaurant, tips were quietly recalculated.

In the midst of it all, the waiter presented the check. What a minute, I thought. A check? For verminated food?

I sought out the manager. “It’s policy, she said. If there’s a bug in your ice cream, you don’t have to pay for it. But you still have to pay for the rest of the food.”

I thought about that a moment.

Does this happen often enough that you have a regular policy for it?

Well, she answered, it does happen. And that’s what my manager told me to do. I took her picture, but she was too ashamed or scared to face the camera.

Meanwhile, the establishment had emptied out.

With some reluctance, we paid and left.

What might you have done differently, had it been your restaurant? What can my fellow eaters learn from this? What will you do, the next time you are served vermin with ice cream?

Eat it?

Throw it?

Send it back?