Sue,

I did not start this, but someone posted this.

An Orange County woman is suing an Irvine restaurant, saying she found
a condom in her clam chowder.

Laila Sultan, 48, said she was eating at McCormick & Schmick's Seafood
Restaurant on Feb. 26, 2002, when something rubbery stuck to her
tooth. "We said, 'Of course. You're chewing on a clam,' " said Paula
Wild, one of three friends with her - all eating clam chowder, and all
of whom have joined the lawsuit.

I am adding about McCormick and Schmick and of course, the Chinese
Buffet part.

Biug contrast eh? Boyd eats there too!

Boyd has a coltish demeanor, as if her thinness comes as much from
nervous energy as late-morning Pilates. It's hard to imagine her at
rest. She admits to having an "Irish temper." She wants perfect in a
world that rarely is. She works on the plane, meets potential accounts
at galas. How much time did she take after the birth of each daughter?
"You don't want to know," she says, flashing a look that suggests
hours, not days.

It's work looking as good as she does, staying this current with
what's going on in the city. She gets her hair and nails done at
Pierre & Carlo, a client. She eats at Bliss, McCormick & Schmick's, 20
Manning, clients all. Every place becomes an office.

Joel

Wow!

We had a young girl who sued a Chinese buffet for $2 million and won
when she found a Band-Aid inside her egg roll or somewhere.

She did not mention if it improved the taste or not.

Joel

Woman Sues Over Condom Found in Soup: Irvine restaurant's lawyer says
it's a mystery how the rolled-up item got into the chowder

Los Angeles Times - November 10, 2003
Jeff Gottlieb, Times Staff Writer

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An Orange County woman is suing an Irvine restaurant, saying she found
a condom in her clam chowder.
Laila Sultan, 48, said she was eating at McCormick & Schmick's Seafood
Restaurant on Feb. 26, 2002, when something rubbery stuck to her
tooth. "We said, 'Of course. You're chewing on a clam,' " said Paula
Wild, one of three friends with her - all eating clam chowder, and all
of whom have joined the lawsuit.

Sultan spit out the offending material. She said it was an unwrapped,
rolled-up condom. "There was no question what it was," Wild said.

"We're all adult women. Believe me, I've seen one in my lifetime."

Sultan said she ran to the bathroom and threw up for 15 minutes.

The case is scheduled for trial Jan. 12. Sultan and Wild, along with
Cindy Hammond and Annamarie Sigala, are suing for negligence and
intentional infliction of emotional distress.

The question is: How could a condom get into the chowder?

"It's as big a mystery to us as it is to anybody else," said Patrick
Stark, attorney for McCormick & Schmick's.

The restaurant sued American Roland Food Corp., which supplied the
clams. A judge ruled in favor of the supplier in September.

"We are going to argue there is absolutely no evidence to suggest the
restaurant was the source of the condom, or any employee of the
restaurant," Stark said. "Either it came from [the four women] or it
was thrown in as a practical joke by another patron at the
restaurant."

The condom itself was seized by the restaurant manager, the women
said. They said he told them the insurance company had instructed him
not to return it or let them photograph it.

Stark said that because the condom was rolled up, "it was clearly
unused" and for that reason hasn't been tested.

The lawsuit says the condom was "a possibly used one."

Sultan and Wild said the women have tested negative for HIV. McCormick
& Schmick's is a privately owned chain with 42 upscale restaurants in
19 states.

Sultan lives in Stanton and works as a reservations agent for a travel
company.

She said she had been to the McCormick & Schmick's previously and had
never had any problems. She said the women ordered drinks, appetizers
and then soup. Because the soup was lukewarm, they sent it back. When
the food returned, Sultan said, she bit into the condom.

Sultan said that the condom discovery has caused psychological trauma
and sent her to a psychiatrist for a year and a half. She said she has
taken a variety of medications for depression and anxiety.

"I can't touch fish," she said. "I can't smell fish. I get sick. I
can't eat soups anymore." She said she has lost her appetite for sex
and food, and lost about 10 pounds.

"I went through hell," she said. "I don't know how to describe it."

031110
LT031102

-------------------------------------------------------------------------
-------

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On Sat, 05 Mar 2005 11:12:18 -0800, Scott en Aztl?n
<slothkills@NOyahooSPAM.com> wrote:

***********

http://www.timesleader.com/mld/inquirer/news/special_packages/inquirer_ma
gazine/8552015.htm

Posted on Sun, May. 02, 2004


 
 R E L A T E D   C O N T E N T  

RON CORTES / Inquirer  
Kelly Boyd in her Delancey Place townhouse, not far from KB
Consultants, her business on Rittenhouse Square.




Ambition in pastel pumps

Philadelphia?s Kelly Boyd ? wife, mother, successful entrepreneur ?
has it all, wants more, and has a 5-year plan for getting it.

By Karen Heller

Inquirer Staff Writer

Kelly Boyd's name, like her life, floats to the surface like fresh
cream.

As in, you should meet Kelly Boyd. Or, do you know Kelly Boyd? Or,
Kelly Boyd could help you with this.

Her presence continues to grow in the fluid financial, political and
social circles that constitute Philadelphia's power axis.

In a relatively brief period, Fleet Bank senior vice president Gerard
Cuddy heard Boyd's counsel praised by three business leaders, "one of
whom doesn't take advice from anyone." He was curious to meet her. "I
just assumed she was this matriarch on Rittenhouse Square."

Boyd, most emphatically, is not.

She teeters past Rittenhouse Square in towering lavender pumps and
power pastel Chanel, size 2. She's 37, armed with a law degree, a
master's in government administration, and considerable ambition.
Bussing strangers, calling acquaintances darling, Boyd is impossible
to ignore.

Her nine-year-old boutique firm, KB Consultants, specializes in public
and community relations, as well as marketing, but Boyd's core
competency may be strategic thinking, using her ever-expanding and
overlapping nexus of friends to achieve her goals.

"I want us to be the McKinsey of PR," she says, referring to the
global business-consulting firm. With her husband, Patrick Sylvester,
she's launching a regional recruiting firm specializing in midlevel
placement.

The mother of three girls under age 7, Frances still in diapers, Boyd
works every day, even on monthly vacations - yes, monthly - to Maui or
Nevis or skiing Copper Mountain. Boyd practices Pilates three times a
week, attends myriad charitable functions, and keeps standing Friday
date nights with Sylvester, who is an entrepreneur and executive
recruiter and CEO of Banister International.

"It's hard for women to have it all, but I think they can enjoy it
all," says Boyd, who is writing a book on the subject, tentatively
titled Don't Screw Up, Ladies.

Together for a dozen years, Boyd and Sylvester are so close that it's
hard to say where their businesses - now five between them - end and
their personal lives begin. Inevitably, vacations involve business,
and philanthropic events are for clients. The dream is persistent.

"It's a true partnership," she says. "We're a team, in every sense."

Sylvester says, "Kelly's always been an overachiever. She's just
hard-wired that way."

Together, they have a five-year plan delineating personal and
professional goals, personal wealth, social and philanthropic
aspirations, the children. It's a 17-page PowerPoint presentation,
which Sylvester updates and revises on vacation.

"We're both risk takers," she says.

She sits in her exquisitely appointed Delancey Place townhouse, where
orchids and spring blooms abound; it's an art deco dream in ecru satin
with sizable pieces of modern art. The art deco is her enthusiasm; the
art, his. "You'll have to ask him who these paintings are by."

Presumably, the children are somewhere in the four-story home, but the
place is hushed, serene and spotless. A tiered tea tray with Miel
chocolates and crustless sandwiches has been set out by the couple's
personal assistant.

She doesn't cook, and Sylvester prefers she not drive the spotless
company Mercedes. Her life is assisted by a full-time nanny, an
after-school babysitter, and other help.

Boyd's jewelry is serious and large, inducing sunglasses. Her clothing
is all good - Chanel, Oscar de la Renta, Carolina Herrera - and of
this season, purchased in Manhattan and Florida. Her children are
dressed in the kind of fine dress clothing 1960s society mothers
purchased at Best & Co. Despite the busy career and outward
effervescence, Boyd exhibits an old-world elegance, suggesting a life
swathed in refined splendor, which makes her seem more venerable than
her age.

Frankly, she's the kind of woman who tends to live elsewhere, like on
Park Avenue in New York.

KB Consultants' 18 clients include a hair salon, stationer,
restaurants, hotel, developer and Fleet Bank - Cuddy signed up with
Boyd soon after they met at the Academy Ball - and nine pro-bono
accounts. She advises them on everything from publicity to what
philanthropies their companies should support, even helping some
executives dress for black-tie affairs. Boyd's intention is to guide
clients through the shoals of press, marketing, business and charity,
all aspects that shape image and confer prestige and power.

The staff of five associates and three interns is a reflection of the
boss, all female, petite, pretty. "Yes, I'm a Kelly clone," admits
Dotty Giordano, a former Manhattan beauty editor. "It took her minutes
to hire me. She's an inspiration, as well as a big sister."

The small warren of offices is decorated with fragrant Tocca candles,
flowers, and children's playtoys next to Boyd's desk. Staff members
refer to themselves as "the girls." What here is daily attire would be
other people's Saturday best. There are no dress-down Fridays. Few
people have ever seen Boyd in jeans.

Underestimating Boyd as a glam publicist, a G-rated version of Sex and
the City's Samantha Jones, would be wrong. She has a backbone of
steel. "I love representing the financial industry," says Boyd, after
pitching a major bank account, which she wants to lock in for a couple
of years. "What I really want now as a client is a law firm."

Jennifer Barton, a close friend and client, says that's no surprise.
"The closer you work to money, the more you make," says Barton, media
relations director for L-3 Communications, an aerospace company.
"We're both athletic, high achievers. We're successful and driven
people."

Boyd was raised in Lower Gwynedd, the eldest of three children, a
graduate of Gwynedd-Mercy Academy. Her parents divorced. She remains
close to her father, who ran a scrap-metal business, traveling with
him on vacations. "He knew what our strengths were, and taught us to
focus on those things. He taught me a lot along the way, taking me
along on business. He taught me how to be around entrepreneurs.
Nothing scared him." She declines to discuss her mother.

Boyd has been politically active since college, for candidates of both
parties. She hosted a fund-raiser for John Street and is close to his
wife, Naomi Post, and supports Electricians Union president John
Dougherty. "I love Johnny Doc," she says, though envisioning ladylike
Boyd with rough-hewn Dougherty creates an odd picture.

"Kelly was just out of college when she worked for me on John Heinz's
third Senate race," says her first boss, Patrick Killian, now Delaware
County commerce director. "I was always teasing her about being in
suits, never in jeans like the rest of us. She had success written all
over and was indefatigable. She'd stick to the tasks and wasn't shy
about pushing people at the senior level."

Boyd's responsibilities included organizing press conferences for
Heinz in front of the U.S. Capitol. "Sen. Specter approached the
microphones, and I remember having to tell him, 'This is Sen. Heinz's
press event, not yours.' I was 22. It turned out to be no problem at
all."

After American University, Boyd went to Penn's Fels Institute of
Government and then Temple for law school. She loved politics,
especially the press aspect, but was never quite sure about law.

Boyd worked through law school as a publicist, picking up clients like
the hotel association. "Law school taught me a lot, but I was
interested in family law and found I didn't have the personality for
it. I used to cry over my cases." She finished school, and never
practiced a day.

"I think law is difficult for women, but it gave me a terrific
background for business," Boyd says. Fleet Bank's Cuddy says, "She
gets this business cold, tossing out metrics, understanding client
dimension, in addition to giving us clarity with sponsorship
opportunities, advising us what boards to be on. That's a huge part of
my job. She's also great at connecting us with people."

Boyd has a coltish demeanor, as if her thinness comes as much from
nervous energy as late-morning Pilates. It's hard to imagine her at
rest. She admits to having an "Irish temper." She wants perfect in a
world that rarely is. She works on the plane, meets potential accounts
at galas. How much time did she take after the birth of each daughter?
"You don't want to know," she says, flashing a look that suggests
hours, not days.

It's work looking as good as she does, staying this current with
what's going on in the city. She gets her hair and nails done at
Pierre & Carlo, a client. She eats at Bliss, McCormick & Schmick's, 20
Manning, clients all. Every place becomes an office.

"Everybody notices her," says friend Eugene Block, a founder of
Rosenbluth Travel, a generation her senior. "You can't be oblivious to
her. A lot of people who look like Kelly slide and glide and let these
natural assets take them through life," he says. "Kelly's much too
driven and entrepreneurial for this kind of thing."

Along the way, Boyd and Sylvester have developed detractors, not one
of whom would speak on the record. Her home, purchased in 2000,
underwent major construction that resulted in five lawsuits and
countersuits. Workmen on the house protested conditions and payment,
carrying placards in Rittenhouse Square, opposite her office.

Earlier this year, Boyd resigned from representing Rittenhouse Row, a
consortium of Center City businesses. The split was far from amicable.

Boyd's a demanding boss, workdays spilling into evening events. "Our
days are very long and exhausting," says Giordano. Turnover at KB
Consultants is high, though that's common in public relations and
among young professionals launching careers. "In nine years, I've only
fired one person," Boyd says.

That firing was done publicly by Sylvester in January. In loud,
obscenity-laden language, he fired the employee in Smith & Wollensky,
a event witnessed by many diners, which quickly became the talk of the
square, not the best move for a public-relations executive. This
incident was not part of the plan.

Boyd talks about her book in progress. "I really enjoy women. If
you're not a 'girl's girl,' you can't go past the first page. I really
enjoy women of all ages, and this is a book about women enjoying every
part of their life, which I don't feel every woman does. I've enjoyed
life too much, and I've done it by focusing on how not to make certain
mistakes with relationships, especially with your significant other."

Last year, Sylvester bought Banister from CDI, the large, public
executive staffing and consulting corporation, and took it private.
They plan to redo the house. Boyd has the book, as well as the new
company. They have plans to travel even more with their daughters,
while they're still young.

"Patrick, quite frankly, has done this all on his own," she says. "We
are very effective in our time management. We have wonderful people
who work with us, who are with us forever."

And in five years? "I don't see KB Consultants being a $10 million
business," Sylvester says. "It's too high quality to grow superhuge
and globalize. I see Kelly getting into other businesses and other
endeavors she finds interesting, and platforming her work."

Boyd adds: "We'll be guiding the board of whatever we run, and hire
good people to run them. We're risk-taskers. We're concerned with how
you grow your wealth. We're busy growing his companies, staying
focused on our companies so that later we can give more money away.
You have to have great wealth to be on boards. We'll do more in the
future."

She's serious, as she often is, but delighted to talk about the
future. "Happiness and fun are critical to me. Everyone who knows me,
knows that I have to have fun, with my clients and home life."

Even if something catastrophic were to happen to their businesses,
Boyd seems prepared for that, too.

Looking content on her eggshell damask settee, she smiles. "Then we
would just start up all over again."

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Contact staff writer Karen Heller at 215-854-2586 or
kheller@phillynews.com.