A mom went to Olive Garden this week and had a less than wonderful time which ended with her toddler being covered in a strawberry daiquiri. Obviously, the mom and I have differing opinions about what constitutes a good time, because if my night ended up with me being covered head to toe in strawberry daiquiri or any other kind of alcoholic beverage, I would consider that a very successful evening. Nevertheless, it happened and Ashley was upset enough about it to go to the Olive Garden Facebook page and complain/hope for a gift card so she can go back again.
Her gripe is that it was the server’s fault because the drink was placed in front of the child which resulted in the baby bukkake strawberry daiquiri disaster. While none of us were there, we can only assume that Ashley is telling the god’s honest truth and that the server practically handed the cocktail to the toddler. Nevermind that far too often, we servers have no place to put a drink down because the table is covered with cell phones, iPads, diaper bags and coloring books. Or maybe it was one of those issues where there is a high chair at the end of a booth making it near impossible for us to reach the table top at all. The only thing we can be sure of is that Ashley wasn’t paying attention and her baby done spilled a cocktail on itself.
Ashley went looking for a manager to ask for a new server, because it’s totally, 100%, all the server’s fault, right? Pouring salt into her wound, she was dismayed to learn that the restaurant would do absolutely nothing for Ashley except give her husband a new strawberry daiquiri. Wait, what? What else was she expecting? A formal apology that her baby hasn’t developed the necessary motor skills required to properly handle a cocktail? Did she want them to buy her baby a new onesie since this one was undoubtedly ruined? Did she require a promise from Olive Garden to pay for the dry cleaning bill? Did she want the server to return to the scene of the crime and gently swab the baby with dampened bev naps in order to remove every drop of sticky sweet simple syrup and strawberry puree from the poor child?
Look, Ashley. Mistakes happen and whether or not the server placed the drink too close to your child’s grabby little hands, it certainly wasn’t intentional. And as a parent, you have to bear some responsibility for the accident since you are the one who should be watching your precious little angel every second to ensure he or she doesn’t grab a steak knife, eat some salt, stand in a high chair or knock over a strawberry fucking daiquiri. It’s a shared responsibility and by no means the fault of Olive Garden. Your baby survived, right? Why not just chalk it up to that time you went to Olive Garden as a family and something funny happened and you can laugh about it for the rest of your lives? 19 years from now when your child is puking its guts out into a toilet because of too many White Russians and tequila shots, you can lean down to your child and hold their hair back as they release it all. And somewhere between them puking out Kahlua colored vomit and dry heaving, you can say, “Awww, sweetie. It’ll be okay. Hey, it all started when you tried to drink Daddy’s strawberry daiquiri at Olive Garden when you were a baby.” And the two of you will laugh and laugh.
Or you can just get upset about it and never go back to Olive Garden. Your call, Ashley.
p.s. Your husband drinks strawberry daiquiris at Olive Garden?