There’s a new episode of Think Again, My Friend up today whose theme, Family Restaurants, prompted more anecdotes than we could squeeze into the unusually long recording. The “Who said it: Herman Cain or Homer Simpson?” quiz did make the cut; on not one quote was there consensus on the source. I’m pretty happy about that.

Here’s an anecdote I saved up just for the Message: I Cariots (as my grandmother always said, just because almost nobody reads your blog doesn’t mean you can’t invent a stupid, cutesy name for those who do). It’s neither about me, nor especially family friendly, so be advised.

This story might make you never want fettucine alfredo again. That would be stupid, though. Unless you’re vegan.

A few months ago I was on my lunch break, in the middle of a volunteer shift at a clinic that mostly provides reproductive health services, and a staff member I’d never met before told us this story, which she said had been told to her on a camping trip that weekend.

The friend from the camping trip had eaten at [family restaurant] at least a few months previous, and eaten fettuccine alfredo. Restaurant portions being what they are, she took leftovers home. and shortly after gone to the doctor with a sore throat. The doc diagnosed her with gonorrhea.Which came as a sufficient enough surprise that the doc had the alfredo sauce tested. Its true contents? The semen of three different young men.

My colleague reported that her friend was receiving a monthly check to keep her mouth shut about the whole ordeal; it’s enough that she never has to work again.

I’d like to skip ahead in time a bit to the part where I think, Wait a minute, what? and wander over to Snopes, where several variations on this story appear in contaminated, semen-y glory. The most recent and prominent of these involved the very chain named in my colleague’s story: the Olive Garden.

In the moment, though, my reaction — largely shared by the others in the room — was more along the lines of:

1) Ew ew ew ew ew I’ll never eat at the Olive Garden again. (I don’t go there often these days anyway, but that’s not really the point.)

2) Oh, but gonorrhea? That’s totally treatable. A sore throat and a course of antibiotics is a small price to pay for never having to work again. (One of the providers pointed out that researchers have found antibiotic-resistant strains of STDs that used to be really treatable, including gonorrhea, bringing all my eat-contaminated-food-and-retire-young fantasies to a hasty, unpleasant end.)

3) Have you read/heard about The Help? (The movie was just a few weeks from release.) Because, apparently, POOP PIE.

It was the story’s tidy, conspiratorial ending (THAT’S WHY YOU’VE NEVER HEARD ABOUT THIS) that made me curious enough to look it up.

What I didn’t even consider was how implausible the story was from a medical perspective. (Yes, I’m even overlooking the fact that semen and alfredo sauce really have distinct tastes, unless you’re my grandmother and you’re reading this, in which case I have no idea what I’m talking about.)I have chronic sinus issues with post-nasal drip, which means at least once every couple of years I get one really horrid, lingering sore throat that lasts long enough to warrant a strep test. Throat swabs for chlamydia and gonorrhea are available, but as far as I can tell, rarely offered unless there’s reason for the provider or patient to believe an STD would be the cause of the patient’s irritation (i.e. she also has symptoms of gonorrhea in the genitals, tells the provider she’s performed oral sex recently on an infected partner).

Absent that, additional testing would happen after strep had been ruled out. It takes a few days for gonorrhea symptoms to appear in the throat — so it could be up to a couple of weeks before the proper diagnosis was handed down. At which point, it’s not impossible the patient would still have had leftovers in her fridge to sample for DNA testing, but it’s pushing the edge of plausibility. Besides, it would take a serious leap for the provider to say, “Oh, well now. Maybe it was just something you ate! We’ll get it tested and everything will be copacetic as heck, lady!”

There’s also the part where I have no idea if the bacteria would live in refrigeration. There’s also the slut-shamey and highly suspect how-could-I-possibly-have-an-STD? mechanism, but I think you get the point, which is that it’s a whack as hell story.

For at least those few minutes of conversation, though, we all bought it, or were polite enough to accept it on its own terms. Even though I suspect we all — even those with minimal training on the subject, like me — know enough about how STDs are actually diagnosed and treated to know better. This isn’t a story about how stupid people are, that they believe stupid things. It’s how a compelling narrative can knock down all you know, if for minute.

On the podcast I asked a question about a toddler at Applebee’s who was served a Long Island iced tea in a sippy cup. That’s not only true, but apparently a Thing there, which I find perversely reassuring. Whether or not bored, disgruntled Olive Garden employees are by turns jerking off into vats of pasta sauce, you can all rest assured the world is still a terrifying place, one hell-bound on poisoning and corrupting the innocent, one sippy cup Margarita at a time.