Moral dilemma over a worm in a bowl of greens
WEDNESDAY EVENING the wife, the eldest daughter and the sole grandchild I took to a lean dinner at Kenny Rogers’ in SM City Pampanga after going through the customary window shopping rounds and the obligatory stock-up on groceries, fruits and veggies, and toiletries at the supermarket.
Half into her bowl of fresh greens, eldest daughter noticed a crawler worming its way out of a Romaine lettuce leaf.
Not her father’s daughter in temperament, she politely motioned to a waiter and most serenely showed him the worm in her bowl, whispering, “Will you please do something about this?”
Waiter took the bowl to the lady manager on-duty at the counter who promptly took the bowl and rushed to the kitchen.
By the look on the manager’s face, I could most ascertain that the poor soul who prepared the salad had a dressing down totally different from the French or thousand island kind.
Which kind of made me muse: Is the worm on my daughter’s salad worth the probable scolding that poor salad guy got from his boss?
Damned. Why should I care, we are the victims here. It is my daughter’s well-being at stake. What if that worm is a maggot? Who knows what it could have inflicted upon my dear daughter.
Came the waiter, profuse in apologies and saying he would bring a new plate of salad for the daughter.
Daughter was saying thanks when I bawled: “How can we be sure that your salads are free from worms? I want your manager here now!”
Bowled over, the waiter turned ashen and took all but three frightened leaps to reach the counter at the far end.
Oh God, I am so mean! So I shall rant and rave at the manager over the state of un-hygiene at Kenny Rogers. So I shall threaten to report the incident to my cousin-in-law who happens to be the chief sanitary engineer of the Department of Health in Central Luzon? So I shall tell her to get a copy of this paper and find her restaurant exposed? So?
So the manager will in turn rant and rave at the poor salad guy. So she shall take a cut of his measly pay for the day as punishment for un-cleanliness, for negligence perhaps. So she shall stamp a red demerit dot before his name, marking an unsatisfactory performance that shall doom him come rehiring time. So one family shall be deprived of what could possibly be its only means of income.
All these sufferings for a worm?
Damned me. Damned that inner voice saying, the littlest individual act impacts on a whole universe. Damned, I don’t even know if that’s Zen or dhammapada or Tao. Ah, a universe of thought in a millisecond.
Came the lady manager, nervously assuring us she has said her piece to the kitchen staff, saying “Sorry po” and asking would we please accept the replacement salad.
“Just refund us,” was all I could say.
Damned worm. I will never eat at Kenny Rogers again.
Half into her bowl of fresh greens, eldest daughter noticed a crawler worming its way out of a Romaine lettuce leaf.
Not her father’s daughter in temperament, she politely motioned to a waiter and most serenely showed him the worm in her bowl, whispering, “Will you please do something about this?”
Waiter took the bowl to the lady manager on-duty at the counter who promptly took the bowl and rushed to the kitchen.
By the look on the manager’s face, I could most ascertain that the poor soul who prepared the salad had a dressing down totally different from the French or thousand island kind.
Which kind of made me muse: Is the worm on my daughter’s salad worth the probable scolding that poor salad guy got from his boss?
Damned. Why should I care, we are the victims here. It is my daughter’s well-being at stake. What if that worm is a maggot? Who knows what it could have inflicted upon my dear daughter.
Came the waiter, profuse in apologies and saying he would bring a new plate of salad for the daughter.
Daughter was saying thanks when I bawled: “How can we be sure that your salads are free from worms? I want your manager here now!”
Bowled over, the waiter turned ashen and took all but three frightened leaps to reach the counter at the far end.
Oh God, I am so mean! So I shall rant and rave at the manager over the state of un-hygiene at Kenny Rogers. So I shall threaten to report the incident to my cousin-in-law who happens to be the chief sanitary engineer of the Department of Health in Central Luzon? So I shall tell her to get a copy of this paper and find her restaurant exposed? So?
So the manager will in turn rant and rave at the poor salad guy. So she shall take a cut of his measly pay for the day as punishment for un-cleanliness, for negligence perhaps. So she shall stamp a red demerit dot before his name, marking an unsatisfactory performance that shall doom him come rehiring time. So one family shall be deprived of what could possibly be its only means of income.
All these sufferings for a worm?
Damned me. Damned that inner voice saying, the littlest individual act impacts on a whole universe. Damned, I don’t even know if that’s Zen or dhammapada or Tao. Ah, a universe of thought in a millisecond.
Came the lady manager, nervously assuring us she has said her piece to the kitchen staff, saying “Sorry po” and asking would we please accept the replacement salad.
“Just refund us,” was all I could say.
Damned worm. I will never eat at Kenny Rogers again.
posted by A.Caesar Z. Lacson at 9:39 PM
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