Let me count the ways.
There was that time as the Five-Corner Tree restaurant when a hefty but nimble rat fell right on head, hopped off my shoulder and scrambled behind me and a lady on the same bench. "Rat, rat!" people screamed. An employee raised her head like an ox from a watering hole, but then went right back to sweeping. A few seconds later, everyone was eating serenely, and the rat was nowhere in sight. Probably bathing itself in the in-ground fish pool under our feet.
Then there was the time I ordered a grapefruit green tea, only to find a large crack ion the glass. I returned it for a new one and went on to enjoy my beverage. As the cup was getting empty, I took a big sip from the straw to savor the settled grapefruit pulp. But for some reason the pulp had a crunchy bit in it. Oh, I see: a rice sized shard of glass was down there too. How quaint! Waiter, might I trouble you to scratch this time off my bill, or should I just sue your boss instead?
Oh, yes, then there was the time, only a week or two ago in fact, when I was dining at one of my favorite restaurants near my house. I ordered a bento, three-cup chicken I believe it was. The meal was tasty, the drink delightfully shard-free and the atmosphere chic and relaxing. My gullet was getting full, so I decided to rinse it down with the little bowl of soup I'd let stand the whole meal. These stout little plastic bowls, black on the outside, maroon on the inside, are a common sight in Taiwan, so I wasn't in a rush to finish it. When I lifted the lid off, a strange thought flitted through my mind, "Why is there so little soup in here?" -- a thought so strange I just ignored it. "Of course there's only a little soup in a little bowl!) Then, as I lifted the bowl to my lips for that first warm sip, another thought blurred through my mind, "Why is this bowl not so very warm? Did I really let it sit so long?" -- a thought so petty I just ignored it. (Of course, there's little warmth in a little bowl!) But then, as the soup sluiced its way down my throat, and I glanced at the bottom of the bowl, a question roared into my mind, refusing to be ignored. "Why is there rice and bits of meat in this half-empty, nearly cool bowl of soup?"
Egads! I'd been treated to the house's Second-Hand Delight!
My stomach turned, my neck and face went clammy, and I fought the urge to refill the bowl with my own concoction from within. Deciding a lawsuit was too much to swallow, I still felt one sip of soup was more than enough, that night.
Ah, Taiwan, how could I sue thee! Let me count the ways! One two three!