Buzzkill

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Saturday night a few friends and I rolled up on Athens Family Restaurant to throw some solids on top of our dinner of beer. It's a Greek diner that also serves burgers and breakfast, and though I'm not all that crazy about the Greek stuff there, as an admitted breakfast freak I'm all about anywhere I can get bacon and eggs at 3 in the morning.

The food more than adequately served its proper function, but when they plopped down two coffees on the table, I noticed something a little weird. The mug was cold, and so was the brew. I mean, it happens, right? But come on, we were drunk. If there's anything I need from an all-night diner, it's a piping-hot cup of the good stuff. Then my friend noticed that not only was his coffee also cold, but it had a dead fly in it.

As a former waitress, I always feel kinda bad about the pointing out of the lipstick on the coffee mug (Green Hills Noshville!), the hair under the pizza (Radius 10!) or the minty chewed gum in the salad (Caesar's!)—even a broken shard of glass in a salad once (Dalts!), but as a lifelong eater of food, I'll be darned if I'm going to pony up for tainted goods.

We notified the waitress politely—jovially, even—that the coffee was cold and there was a dead fly in it. I expected excessive apologies, light weeping, anything. (Come on, I know you've seen it all before, but at least fake that you're grossed out.) So it was fairly amusing when she responded completely unfazed with something like: "Hmm, that's weird. I'll get you a new one."

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