Wednesday, December 31, 2008

You love your kids very much... WE DON'T!

Restaurant Rage!

Ok, look... I like kids. I do! Just not yours... in our restaurant! Haha, that's also a lie. The fact is, when kids have manners they're really fun to wait on! You can joke and play with them. There's even been a few impressive rug rags through our doors. Kids are also the source of much restaurant rage! Allow me to explain.

Your stroller 'O madness. OK, let's start here. I know in America we can have it all. Everything, the bigger the better. We want a bigger house, we want our land on bigger plots, hell our SUVs rival the size of a tank at times! With all of this excess, why not strap our beloved children into the largest stroller we can possibly find? One that's so big that it needs to be registered with the local DMV and has to stop at every road side weigh station to be used legally! Here's a novel idea, let's take this behemoth vessel to the restaurant. This thought process is where the trouble begins. The following is a quick check list you go through before bringing this Titanic on wheels through the doors of an eating establishment:

  1. Should I make the excellent decision to attempt to bring this monster baby hauler into a place that has no storage?

  2. Is there room for it in between the tables? (Hint: THE ANSWER IS ALWAYS NO)

  3. Why am I unloading the baby from the over sized SUV into a stroller, just to push it 20 feet from the car to restaurant?

OK, hopefully that point has been made. Moving on. The crying baby. Babies cry... we all know that. It's what they do. I'm fine with that. What I'm not OK with, is when your precious little angel decides to inhale every last sweet ounce of oxygen around them... filling those tiny little lungs to capacity, and then lets out the loudest, longest, mind-numbing shriek known to man; why you decide it's OK to just sit there and carry on your conversation. No apologies (or maybe a half hearted one to those around you), just a sad attempt to console the mini storm siren. A quick "there, there, it's OK," (which it's not)... and then strong, constant ignoring of the screaming demon. Maybe, you could take the midget outside for 10-15 mins? Please? PLEASE?!

This rant of mine may never end, if I attempt to rattle off everything that bugs me about the child factor in the restaurant. I'll try to wrap it up. Finally, let me end by addressing the mini Issac Newtons of our generation. Yes, the gravity testers. If I hold this crayon over the edge of my high-chair, and let go, what happens? I once watched a father pick up crayons off the ground (that his mini terror continued to drop) for 18 straight minutes, and hand them back to his toddler, who in turn grabbed it, reached over the edge, and dropped it again. A vicious cycle of retardation on the father's part! Couple this gravity curiosity with the fact that kids are handed spoonfuls of Macaroni and cheese, cups of liquid, Cheerios, etc... They all end up on the floor. If you ever want to save yourself, your kids, and the restaurant time... hand me $35.00. I'll put six Cheerios in your kids mouth. Dump the rest on the ground (and grind them in), spill fluid all over the table, and color on every surface within the reach of a baby. Then you can pack up Jr. Taxi the air plane size stroller over to the table. Begin a loading up/strapping in and item checking process that would make NASA impatient... and finally be on your way!

Look... I love individuals. I hate people. Kids are sweet, but restaurants and public stimulation turn Jr. into a minion of Satan.

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