I found a fly in the bottom of my take-away salad at a restaurant called Ready to Eat. They sell plastic wrapped sandwiches and plastic ensconced salads for people willing to pay a premium for decent food that takes no preparation. I was glad it was a fly. I wouldn't have thought twice about a gnat -- I regularly fish those out of Bloody Marys and finish the drink -- and I was glad that it wasn't a roach or a dead mouse. I don't think I could ever go back if it was a roach. But with the fly, I took one week off from the restaurant before making a trip back. The break was more of a punishment to them than anything; I just couldn't muster much outrage over a fly. Maybe I would have felt differently if the fly had surfaced in my soup halfway through a bowl.
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