My daughter has a thing about eating in restaurants or buying takeaway food. She has to see the food being prepared or she won’t touch it. This all stems from a visit to a takeaway outlet a few years ago when she witnessed one of the McDroids sneezing over the French fries when he should have been adding salt, and continuing as if nothing had happened.
I too share this fear of restaurant food. But this is because I have read “Fight Club”. Whenever I eat out, the words “I would strongly advise you not to order the clam chowder” ring around my head. Which is lucky. I hate clam chowder. With an active enough imagination, you can go off any food.
But then, I’ve seen what goes into “Value” meat pies.
Also: there’s nothing worse that seeing what makes a vending machine work*. It’s a sickening maze of plastic hoppers, tubes and arcane, ungodly machinery that has absolutely nothing to do with the creation of a passable cup of coffee. It may say “Nescafe” on the outside, in inside, it’s clearly bits of a dalek.
People who drink vending machine tea – or worse, vending machine soup – deserve everything they get.
* Apart from waking up in bed between Bernard Manning and Jimmy Carr
The ...err... Wednesday vote-o
Get your votes in – one more day left in the Worst Person Ever Travesty of the Democratic Process Poll, and if Kilroy doesn’t win, I’m going off to start my own political party.
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