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I am allergic to nuts. I always have been, even before life-threatening allergies were hip. So I'm naturally careful and responsible about my food. Now check this, asshole: When I come into your restaurant, you should know that I study your menu, looking for items that may poison me. When I order something from your menu that is NOT SUPPOSED TO HAVE NUTS, and you serve it up, having just dumped the remains of the walnut surprise into the seafood chowder, and I tell you it is contaminated—with what is about to be my last unlabored breath for the next 10 hours—let me give you some friendly advice about what NOT to do. DON'T BRING ME THE FUCKING BILL. You've just poisoned me, and I have taken all reasonable measures to avoid the tremulous painful existence that is sure to be mine for the rest of the day. Please note that I am taking nothing with me, not asking for a doggie bag, it is not a scam. Your food is like Drano to my throat and you've kicked me while I'm down by making sure I keep your profit margin intact. And by the way, if I ASK you if something has nuts in it, if it DOES, do not patronize me by telling me "they're so small, I won't notice it." Believe you me, we will BOTH notice it.