As you may or may not know, I have absolutely no tolerance for children in my station. It’s not that I blame the children, because as a dear friend of mine always used to say, “it all comes down to parenting.” So true. But I still hate children. And the parents. I am equal opportunity hater, yo. Last week, as I was watching a little girl lick a salt shaker like she was a cow, I began to think of all the ways I wanted to gain vengeance. First though, why in the hell would a parent think it is okay for their child to lick a salt shaker? It is gross on so many levels. Gross for the person who will use it next and gross for the kid because that thing is loaded with germs. I mean, I barely wipe down the tables, do you think I ever clean a fucking salt shaker? Those things end up on the floor, in the seat cushions, and, in at least one instance, in the hands of a scary scary homeless lady who payed for her hamburger with spare change. But lick away, little girl, lick away. This same little girl later opened the lid and poured the salt onto the table while her mother just rolled her eyes and said something like, “oh, these kids…ha ha ha…” She thought it was fine. And then I had a vision. I thought how thoroughly satisfying it would be to somehow dip her precious little two-year old hands into a jar of Tabassco sauce and then just sit back and watch. Watch as she puts her cute little fingers into her mouth and begins to experience the spicy burning sensation that is so perfect on a burrito but not so perfect on two-year old fingers. As she starts to cry, I rush over to show my concern and then she puts her fingers up to her eyes to brush away the tears. And the heat of the peppers burns her corneas. Her eyes are crispier than the bacon that her mother sent back three times because it wasn’t done enough. Poor poor little girl. “Maybe she has a tummy ache?” I say to mommy. “Or maybe she saw a big scary spider!” Or maybe she shouldn’t have been licking a fucking salt shaker.