The Tale of the Dishonest Server
Oh server, so charming, with a confident grin,
I trusted your words as the meal did begin.
“You’ll be safe,” you assured, “No gluten in sight,”
But your promise unraveled that very same night.
The pad Thai arrived, so fragrant, so grand,
Delivered with flourish by your practiced hand.
Yet beneath its allure, a danger did hide,
A glutenous specter I couldn’t abide.
“My stomach is strong,” I thought with some cheer,
But soon it was clear: disaster was near.
The bloating, the cramps, the sweat on my brow—
I’m cursing that noodle betrayal right now.
Oh server, why lie? What did you gain,
By sending me spiraling through glutenous pain?
Was it haste, was it carelessness, or something more sly?
I’ll never know why you let the truth die.
But mark my words, I’ve learned from this plight:
I’ll question each menu with unyielding might.
For gluten’s no joke, and trust can decay,
When servers spin stories in such a sly way.