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Lies People Tell

When I was younger, probably about fifteen years old I was given the heavy responsibility of barbecuing the steaks for my family who was arriving at 6:00pm from a long drive to visit. At the time I jumped at every chance I could to show some responsibility. The family arrived at about 5:45pm so after telling my relatives that I would be the master chef today I began to  prepare the steaks. I seasoned them, and beat them to tenderness with a  mallet. At last it was time to throw them on the bar-be. Four steaks would fit on the grill at a time but not only did I want  to show my steak cooking qualities I wanted also to show my proficiency. I  put one to many steaks on the grill and when it fell to the ground my little dog Bart ran after it. So I chased Bart I wrestled the raw steak away from   him. I then dipped it into the swimming to rinse off all dirt and dog   particles and threw it back on the bar-be-que. I served that steak to my dear uncle Henry that warm July night.  Every time he commented on how good the steak was I shivered. To this day he does not know what his steak had been through. And he never will!

From The Dog's Mouth To My Uncle's

Terry McGee




Lies People Tell
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fast food personnel
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They abused me mercilessly when I worked for Carl's Jr.  I worked the graveyard shift and the manager was constantly on top of me to "clean faster."   We used the vinegar left over in the five gallon tub of pickles to clean off the work station in the back.  It was a long counter that we used to cut all the vegetables on and it was filthy.  I kept dipping the rag into the five gallon tub of vinegar and washing.  Washing and dipping.  Washing and dipping until I dipped into a brand new, open five gallon tub that still had all the pickles in it.  I was horrified.  They would fire me for sure.  I never said a thing.  Hundreds of hamburgers were prepared with pickles that had be contaminated by a dirty, hairy rag!


Laura Sabadini-Grant


"When you put a lobster in a pot, the high pitched squealing noise you hear is the sound of it screaming."

Actually, I don’t know for sure if this is a lie.  Some adults told me this when I was a kid, and they made a big deal about the lobster screams. I don’t eat lobster to this day.

"If we let you eat Fruity Pebbles and Co-Co Puffs, you’ll rot your brain. Then you’ll be stupid, just like the neighbor’s kid who thinks he’s Gene Simmons."

Rot Your Brain Lie

Laura Sabadini-Grant




We flew all the way out to the other coast for my brother’s graduation. When we got to the airport, he greeted us with smiles and hugs and a big Tupperware container full of cookies. "I made these for you guys to have in your room," he said as he handed the cookies to my mother.

Then everyone piled into the rented mini-van and drove off to begin the week long celebration.

Back at the hotel room, hours later, we unpacked. My brother B. was staying in town. "Are these o.k. to eat?" my sister A. asked my mother, holding up the bin of cookies.

"Yeah, I guess. Why shouldn’t they be?" my dad replied.

"Uh, because of the parasite." A. said.

"Parasite? What friggin parasite? Has B. got a god damned parasite?" he hollered to my mother, who had stepped into the bathroom. "What the hell kind of parasite is she talking about?"

My mother the nurse came out, sat us down, and gave us an "everything we never wanted to know about giardia" lecture. She told us it was an intestinal parasite that gives you terrible diarrhea, and that it is very hard to get rid of. She told us that it can "encapsulate" itself in your liver or brain and cause "complications at a later date". And that public health codes require that an infected person not work in food services until s/he has had three negative cultures for it.

"Has B. had three negative cultures for it?" my father asked, he was pacing now. We didn’t know. B. had been on medication for only a few days. Had this been long enough? And how did mom say it was spread? Through "oral fecal contact".

"You mean if he didn’t wash his hands, and we all eat these cookies, we could get a parasite?" my dad practically shouted.

It was decided we would not eat the cookies. But what would we do with them? B. would ask about them, we knew he would. And he might be in the hotel room over the next few days. He would certainly notice the still full tub o’cookies.

"Maybe we should just hide it" my sister suggested.

"We can’t do that," I said, "He’ll ask about them. Then when we lie and say we ate them all and they were very yummy, he’ll ask for the container back."

We thought about it.

"We could throw them out," my mother offered, half-heartedly. We all would feel bad about that. You don’t just go throwing out food. And it was a gift. I know we were each thinking about how happy he had been when he gave us the cookies. No one wanted to risk eating a cookie, and no one wanted to hurt B.’s feelings by telling him we were afraid to eat the cookies. It seemed like throwing them out was the only thing we could do.

"We can’t throw them all out at once. What if B. comes back here tomorrow. There’s no way he’ll believe we ate all of these in one night."

We thought some more.

"How about if we just throw them out a few at a time?"

"But if we throw out a few every day, he might see them in the trash, and that will make him upset."

"We can throw them away outside. There’s a big covered trash can out there in the hall!"

And so it was decided. Every morning for the next couple of days, we would each take a few cookies, only as much as we would have eaten normally. Into the trash they would go. No one mentioned it, but the guilt hung thick when B. would ask us "So did you guys like the cookies?" or say "I hope you don’t mind that I used pecans instead of walnuts..." We felt bad, but we never told him what we really did with the cookies.

It doesn’t sound like a big deal, right? Lying to save your health while sparing someone’s feelings is not a bad thing, right? Then why do I feel so bad every time I think about this?







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