And so, on a beautifully hot and sunny Saturday lunchtime, I sauntered into Glasgow City Centre’s bustling American-Italian diner, DiMaggio’s. After a thirsty morning of shop-shop-shopping on the hottest day Glasgow had seen so far this year, my mouth salivated at the prospect of loaded potato skins, a Ceaser salad, or pizza. The fact the restaurant was jam packed must be a good sign, my mind registered, as my eyes darted about the menu, ravenously confused by so many tasty options.

Between our group, we ordered all of the above as well as an obscure prawn curry and platter starter. The food couldn’t arrive quick enough, but as it was placed on our table, we noted that our server’s hands were filled with large warts! Immediately, my hunger dissipated. I spent my teenage years waitressing. A cheery disposition and clean appearance are the key skills required to execute your job successfully. This fella failed on both accounts.

Regardless, the warty waiter hadn’t put off my friends. As I gingerly picked some brown lettuce leaves, they munched and chewed and swallowed and slurped until the plates were clean, putting my meticulousness down to personal neurosis. Yet, as we waited for the bill, we caught a glimpse of the kitchen through the swing doors: angry, hairy chefs heaving buckets of boiled or microwaved meat from the floor and piling it onto plates, coughing in the process. Thinking back to my waitressing days, I wasn’t all that surprised. There was just a twinge of squeamishness.

We paid £47, and quickly left to enjoy the wonderful weather. But, nay, the rest of the day was fated. Within an hour, our stomachs were churning, our intestines felt weakness. Our only option was to head back to our hotel and take turns in dominating the bathroom or running down to reception to embarrassingly ask for more Andrex…

Despite numerous attempts to contact DiMaggios, we didn’t get a response until over a MONTH later. They refused to believe that our collective illness could possibly come from their restaurant, since they had served the same dishes we had ordered to other customers that day and received no other complaints. (Because, of course, every time someone sneezes it means they have flu.) What a ludicrous defence! I pointed out that it could have been something in one of the individual dishes rather than the whole restaurants delivery of prawns that day. The manager stood firm and refused to answer my questions. He claimed that food poisoning never happens within the timescale we experienced. However, this meal was the only food we had eaten alone without the rest of our group that weekend, and we were the only ones to become ill.

The resolution? I insisted on a refund. Nope, that can’t be done, but no reason can be given as to why. Instead, I get sent £20 of vouchers to go back to the same disgusting restaurant. Since it’s a Scottish chain and my group are Londoners, this was next to useless, even if we did want to suffer another week of diarrhea. But what was I to expect from a next to useless manager?

Avoid this place at all costs.

– Judas Morgan

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