(I’m a food critic. Due to getting lost, I end up at a small family owned inn. I decide to drop by there for the night.)
Me: Excuse me!
(A girl, about 18 years old, walks up to me. Note that I’m in my early 20s, despite my job which I applied for as a joke, but was hired instantly as I was strict but fair and honest about what I thought about the food.)
Girl: Um… Hello? Are you um… Lost?
Me: Yeah, in fact I am. I noticed it being an inn, so… Or… Am I wrong? If so, I apologize.
Girl: No, it’s not that! It’s just… We rarely have guests and we’re expecting a food critic… So we’re all kind of… You know, on edge…
Me: Ah, I apologize. Well, do you have a room free? And some food, perhaps? Don’t worry, I’m paying for it all in advance if needed!
Girl: Um, wait…
(She proceeds to get her father).
Man: Hey there! Looking for a room, are you?!
Me: Yes. Is that a problem?
Man: Only if you don’t pay up.
Me: I have every intention of paying, don’t worry.
Man: Well then!
(He gives me the key to a room. I head there being led by the girl.)
Me: So uh… A food critic, huh? Know anything about him?
Girl: No… Sorry.
Me: I see. It’s fine.
(She shows me the room and I open the door. I drop down on the bed for a short bit as the girl keeps looking at me.)
Girl: Um… You wanted food, right?
Me: Huh? Oh yeah! That’d be great! Thanks!
(We head down again and I proceed to order. Note that I don’t drink alcohol.)
Girl: Do you want a beer or something to drink?
Me: Cola is fine.
Girl: I see.
(She leaves and comes back after about ten minutes with the food. It’s a large t-bone steak, potatoes, vegetables and some sauce which surprises me.)
Girl: Oh um… Is something wrong?
Me: Huh? Nah! I just haven’t eaten a t-bone steak before! Well, let’s dig in!
(I quickly eat a small bite and realizes this is easily one of the tastiest things I’ve ever eaten. The girl keeps standing and watching me as I eat.)
Me: Something wrong?
Girl: …Sorry, I’m just unused to guests… That is…
Me: So? Have a seat! Grab a drink for yourself! Don’t worry, I’ll pay for it if needed!
(She nods and grabs a Cola of her own and sits down. We begin talking about various things but I’m vague on purpose about what I work with. Once I’ve finished eating, I head back to my room. Roughly ten minutes later, I hear yelling from downstairs. Surprised, I head down. Note that I’ve practiced martial arts for some time, so I’m confident in my self-defense techniques).
Customer: What kind of smelly shitty joint is this?!
Man: Look, I apologize that it’s hard to find here, but—-
Customer: Do you even know who the f**k I am?! I’m [my name]! I’m the best damn food critic on this side the equator!
(I try not to laugh as I walk downstairs and head up to them.)
Man: Oh, sorry if we disturbed you, mr… Come to think of it, what’s your name?
Me: I remembered not telling you guys my name, so I figured I might as well do that now.
(I look at the customer).
Me: The name’s [my name]. Food critic.
Customer: No, you’re not! I’m [my name]!
Me: Oh? That’s funny.
(I take out my calling card, which says my name, the newspaper I normally write reviews for and has a picture of me.)
Me: If you’re me, then my cards must be fake, right? Then, you must have some of your own that disproves me, right?
Customer: FUCK THIS PLACE!
(He hurried out.)
Me: Sorry about that. It slipped my mind due to exhaustion.
Girl: So wait, you’re [my name]?
Me: Yep. And… I’d be glad if you guys didn’t tell anyone I’ve been here. My boss tends to get on my neck if I do those things.
Man: …Just an honest question first.
Man: What’s the take on the food? My wife was curious, as you’re the first customer we’ve had in a while, so…
Me: If I put it this way… I have a very large circle of people I know. I’m going to recommend that they get their asses here - every single one of them - even if it’s just for tasting your wives cooking. Frankly, it’s the best damn thing I’ve ever tasted.
(The wife, who stood in the kitchen opening and listened to us, walks up to me).
Woman: You don’t have to lie, you know…
Me: Lie? Listen, I’m a food critic. I do anything BUT lie when it comes to food. In fact, all this talking has made me hungry again. Can I have another serving? Oh and don’t worry - I’m paying for that, too!
Man: Nah, that one’s on the house!
(The next day, I call a bunch of friends and tell them to drop by. I don’t tell them how tasty the food is in order to make them have a neutral stand on what it’ll be like. They all say the same thing as I did; the food was awesome and they’d gladly come there again.
Two years later, I’m now married to the girl I met there. She’s still as shy as back when I first met her, but she’s as skilled in cooking as her mother is. As for the fake food critic, last I heard, he’s serving time for identity fraud!)