Guess What Came to Dinner!

This is a humor piece about finding a half‑inch piece of wood in my store-bought dinner and the unhinged conversation that followed with a customer‑service robot.

Image courtesy of Microsoft Copilot

Nothing ruins dinner faster than finding an unexpected object in your food. I found a half‑inch piece of wood in my store-bought Gluten‑Free Noodles with Robust Radish Slices.

“Ugh,” I said, spitting it out.

“The stuff is that bad?” my husband asked.

“No. I found wood in it. At first, I thought it was a noodle, but it didn’t have quite the artificial flavor their noodles usually do.”

“Are you going to call that personal‑injury lawyer on TV? The one who gets money for people who carry hot, sloshing coffee while running on treadmills?”

“No, but I am going to report it to the manufacturer. I want to do my duty as a good citizen and make sure this happens to no one else.”

“You just want free coupons for more.”

(We’ve been married a long time.)

I ignored him and checked the container. Ah, yes, a huge corporation. Of course, it wouldn’t be as simple as writing an email saying they tried to kill me. Their website instructed me to call 1‑800‑Tuf Luck to register complaints.

After a couple of dozen false starts, I was finally connected to an Automated Systems Specialist (ASS) at the Manufacturer’s Noodle Concoction Department.

ASS: Was there a problem with the item? Me: No, I’m just calling because my kids forget to, and I get lonely.

ASS: State the date you purchased the item. Me: Do you know how many times a week I go to the store? How the hell can I remember!

ASS: Did the product live up to its promise? Me: In your metal head, it probably surpassed it by having something extra inside.

ASS: Did you enjoy the meal despite your perceived problem? Me: Do you enjoy spitting wood? And it was not perceived!

ASS: Are you able to provide us with an expiration date? Me: I have about ten more years if I take enough medication and don’t eat your product anymore.

ASS: Would you recommend this item to a friend? Me: You’re kidding, right?

ASS: What do you think is fair compensation? Me: An all‑expense‑paid trip to Hawaii.

ASS: Do you think you received a good return for your purchase price? Me: Never know when I’ll need a half‑inch piece of spit‑out wood.

ASS: Can you send us a photo? Me: I have a good one from my wedding 41 years ago.

ASS: A photo of the object. Me: Do you think I have nothing better to do than photograph phlegm‑covered wood?

ASS: Thank you for calling. We have just a few more questions: What was your mother’s maiden name? What was your first pet’s name? And where did you go on your honeymoon?

Me: None of your business. Blackie. Wisconsin. Went there for both my first and second marriages. You’d think we could’ve picked somewhere more exciting the second time, but noooo…

ASS: Assure us you’re not a robot. Me: YOU’RE a freakin’ robot!

ASS: Thank you very much. We’ll be in touch.

Several weeks later, I received three coupons for Gluten‑Free Noodles with Robust Radish Slices, because nothing says “We’re sorry you almost swallowed lumber” like more of the same gunk.

I write humorous essays about aging, family chaos, and everyday absurdities. My husband refuses to follow me on Medium because he has “enough stuff” on his devices, and my kids have better things to do. I hope readers on Medium.com will be more supportive. Thank you for considering it!