I don’t know if this counts as a PSA, a cheap shot, or an expression of gratitude that I am not a frequent patron of fast-food restaurants. Regardless, it’s kind of funny, more so than most things, even.
Someone I know runs an HVAC business, which means he does repairs and maintenance on various types of heating and air-conditioning equipment that I have no idea how to fix. He has quite a few corporate clients, among them at least one Long John Silver’s. I don’t like seafood, if that is indeed what it served there, and have never been to one of these establishments for that reason alone. I am in no hurry to change this after hearing his account of his labors today.
Evidently he was starting to work on a small refrigerator at this restaurant and was reaching behind the unit to access whatever wasn’t working right when a small battalion of cockroaches emerged at high speed from what to this point had served as a well-concealed base of operations. The manager, who had been watching, without a word hunkered down and began squashing as many of these roaches as he could using only his thumbs. Why he did this instead of stomping on them is unclear, but he managed to exterminate a good many of them before they could take refuge behind another piece of equipment. Then the manager left. My friend continued working, and minutes later the manager returned with a vacuum cleaner and began sucking the corpses out of view.
I have never been associated with a public health entity of any sort and do not pretend to understand the complexities of their sundry regulations, but I am confident all the same that restaurants are expected to keep their premises relatively clear of roaches and other six-legged invaders, and pre-remptively at that, not by deploying thumbs and an industrial wet-vac only after their presence, in the form of colonies with memberships numbering in the double digits, is discovered.
I would tell you exactly where this restaurant is, but I figure that if I don’t you’ll think twice about eating at a Long John Silver’s whether you are reading this in Dead Pecker Ridge, Nebraska or Rangoon.