This one time, at "J-Jim's" ...

When I was, I think, 17, I worked for a summer as a hostess at a chain steakhouse in my town, let's call the place "J-Jim's." The Head Hostess Lady, an evil and deeply unsatisified witch who liked nothing more than to make us teen hostesses cry, could not stand to see us idle for even an instant. So we had to do piddling stuff while we waited for customers. Often, she set us to neatening the wax pencil marks on the laminated sheet that showed which tables were occupied (can't have those X-es extending past the little squares on this thing that no one but us ever sees, now, can we?), or cleaning the bathrooms sans gloves, or picking up lint from the carpet with our fingers (yes, really), or, for example, tidying up the salad bar. Place was big on its salad bar, doncha know. So this one time, I found a Band-Aid -- used -- in the great bowl of chopped up iceberg lettuce. I wanted to throw out the whole bowl (and I suspect the health department would have agreed). She flew into a rage, ordered me to remove the Band-Aid, and say no more. I did, because she was an evil witch and I was 17. But Never did I eat there again ...