I miss when the comment section was just more crazy ass restaurant stories.

Holy shit. Don’t do drugs at 2 am and try to Kinja, kids. This is basically meth-addled spam Engrish.

I mean, it’s glorious and bizarre, and it tippy toes right up to the line of coherence right before veering stupendously off into the night with its headlights off. Well done Claudettes dressingroom. Well done.

This isn’t law review. Run your own Casemaker search, I need to go represent actual clients. I posted today because you were trolling. I don’t need to back up twenty years of experience with a case cite.

I’m a lawyer. If I were a different type of lawyer, I would try to figure out who you are IRL because you are a plaintiff’s goldmine, my dear.

Why is either that necessary? When we were young, Brother and I were given time outs. We were never hit, and we were rarely subjected to a raised voice. We were taught that we should obey our parents out of respect, not fear. We only feared disappointing them and embarrassing ourselves in their eyes and everyone…

We keep our butter dish on the counter to feed the cat.

I hear you all too well. Although, as folks did point out, this wasn’t wholly the situation you and I face with dining in public with a disabled kid. I’m willing to accept that this situation may have been not quite what we’re used to.

“THE CHURCH IS COMING FROM INSIDE THE HOUSE”

That’s probably partially due to the fact that absolutely nothing to do with these asshole customers could ever be termed “refreshing.”

That’s the big thing people forget when they try to do something like this I’ve found: they don’t give themselves the leeway to have “safe” foods to fall back on—I was pretty surprised when I thought about it, but it doesn’t seem to be the common sense idea. If you decide to go for it, I hope it works for you, too!

I want to put one of these in every single post, just as a “fuck you” to those commenters.

Funny, this sounds like me. I grew up similarly and when I went to college all my friends ate random stuff I felt ashamed that I couldn’t eat what my friends would cook. I started learning to cook for myself and trying to learn to eat different things and I discovered two things:

I got hit by an old lady’s umbrella once on a bus. It was deliberate, although she tried to pass it off as an accident. She thought I was just being lazy, taking up a handicapped seat. So she whacked me across the shins with her metal-tipped brollie. “Oops, love. I get so clumsy when I have to stand.”

Resturants should just straight up have a “staying past closing” service charge. Tell late diners about it before they sit down and explain that it’s a sliding scale based on how many and what staff has to stay to accommodate them. If you’ve finished but choose to linger for 10 minutes after close you get dinged 10…

She said again “JUST WIPE THE TABLE, AND MAKE SURE NO NUTS TOUCH MY FOOD!”

haha, of course. the one word that answers most questions I have about life.

I remember when I took my vacation in Morocco and I was alone there for a week waiting for friends, didn’t speak a single word of arabic or french. Now imagine a small village in the middle of the damn desert and me trying to order coffee. I only drank stuff with lots of milk in it and the waiter brings me an…

I like to make enough for four people then eat it on and off all day like a garbage person. Don’t get me started on what I do with the broken chips (pour them into the bowl and make guac soup)

The old immigrant/new immigrant thing OMG, how many ridings have first-gen immigrants running as Conservatives. I want to yell HARPER HATES YOU WHY ARE YOU HELPING THAT CHILDREN OF THE CORN ASSWIPE at them.

The "hot enough" thing drove me off the wall. People would come in and order their lattes at 190-200 degrees, MILK CURDLES AT 180 YOU NASTIES. Also, steaming it to much hotter than the typical "extra hot" setting makes the milk spit viciously and I'm not about to burn myself just so you can melt the lining of your…