You've got to be shitting me

[I missed a day. Sorry about that. I'll make up for it on Monday, when I post my favorite story ever. In the meantime: a poop story.]

A couple ate dinner at Pizza Place. They paid for their food and left with nary a comment or complaint.

Fifteen minutes later, the man called us. Mini Boss answered the phone. The man presented us with an...interesting problem.

"Yeah, I'm over at the video store next door to you guys right now, and...my wife just shit all over herself."
"...Um, what?"
"Yeah, she just shit everywhere. She is very embarrassed. Now, I think maybe the Italian sausage was bad. She said it tasted funny, I mean, I tasted it myself, but..."
"..."
"...So..."

The man goes on to imply that she's stricken with food poisoning thanks to our rancid Italian sausage. Mini Boss proceeds to offer the following:

1. No one else who ate the Italian sausage has reported being ill.
2. Food poisoning generally takes longer than fifteen minutes to set in.

Though I'm sure he was thinking it, he didn't bother asking, "If it tasted funny, why did you keep eating it? And why didn't you say anything to us at the time?"

The man asks us to refund his money. "I mean, if you wanna do that, we can settle this that way." Mini Boss refuses -- if you knew Mini Boss, you'd know better than that. The man threatens to call a lawyer, and Mini Boss invites him to do just that. The man claims he will.

Never heard from him again.