Mom Kicked Out of Restaurant for Changing Diaper

gross. nasty. yuck

gross. nasty. yuck

Oh boy, look what’s making the rounds of the social media blogosphere: another mother changed a poopy diaper in the middle of a restaurant. KHOU TV and ace reporter Tiffany Craig report that it happened at Brother’s Pizza Express in Spring, Texas when a woman named Miranda Sowers thought, “you know, I’ve got my own changing pad, she’s tiny, she fits right here on the chair,” so she went ahead and opened up a foul diaper that was full of the wrath of lentils and beets. In her defense, the mother had already gone to the restroom to learn that there were no changing tables and she was with her two other kids, a four-year old and eight-year old. She says she didn’t want to have to take all of them out to the mini-van to deal with the diaper. Well, the shit hit the fan when customers started to smell things other than mozzarella, tomato and basil. One of the employees brought out Miranda’s food in to-go boxes and asked them to pack up their crap and move on outta there. Of course, Miranda called the news to alert them about this very important news story and she also filed a complaint with the Better Business Bureau, because, you know, why not?

This is a tough one, y’all. I mean, there were no changing tables in the restroom so what’s a mom to do? Should she let her baby stay in the soiled diaper and marinate? Should she have just dealt with the trouble of taking all three kids out to the mini-van? (We can all agree that she did the right thing by not asking her server to watch the other two kids while she took the poopy one outside.) Miranda claims to have done the deed “quickly and quietly” but even if you do it at the speed of light, that odor is going to emanate beyond the diaper and other people are going to smell it. They should not have to fucking get a whiff of that when all they’re trying to do is enjoy a pepperoni slice. Mothers probably become immune to the funkified smell that comes out of a baby’s diaper and think nothing of it. For those of us who don’t change diapers ten or fifteen times a day, that smell can assault us with a bitch slap to end all bitch slaps. If I was at Brother’s Pizza Express in Spring, Texas and saw someone changing a diaper, I would not be happy. Actually, odds are good that I was already unhappy to begin with just by being in Spring, Texas and eating pizza in a strip mall. However, I would have been one of those customers complaining to management about the chick changing diapers in the restaurant. No word on what she planned to do with the used diaper full of shit, but if she’s like plenty of other moms out there, she was going to roll it up in a ball and place it on the plate when she was finished eating so that the bus boy would think it was a napkin and clear it away for her. Yes, we have all seen that happen. As inconvenient as I’m sure it would have been, I think that Miranda should have just gone to the damn mini-van and dealt with it. Yes, the the restaurant should have had a changing table, but they didn’t, so you have to suck it up, buttercup. Nobody ever said that having children was convenient. Pushing three kids out of your sweet potato pie hole entitles you to Mother’s Day cards for the rest of your life, stretch marks and grey hair, but it doesn’t give you the right to change your diaper two feet away from someone who is trying to eat a goddamn piece of pizza.

The restaurant stands behind their decision but they are now considering buying changing tables for their restrooms which is probably a good idea. As for the complaint filed at the Better Business Bureau, why bother? If you really want to make some noise, Yelp is the way to go!

Call Out that Tweet

In this new and exciting blog post, I call out Twitter user Nicole for telling the waiter to suck her ass. In exactly five words, please leave a comment as to why you think Nicole needed to have her ass sucked out by her waiter.

Thanks.

BW


An Open Letter to the Barefoot Kid at Table 15

nasty, nasty, nasty

nasty, nasty, nasty

Dear Little Boy Who is Running Around the Restaurant in Bare Feet,

Your mom is an idiot. If she even knows who your dad is, he is probably an idiot too. What kind of person thinks it’s alright to take the shoes off of a three-year old kid and let him run around in a restaurant? Your mom, that’s who. And she’s a fucking idiot. Yes, I get that you were whining about having to wear shoes and it was easier for her to just pull them off and let you go, but guess what, kid. I don’t like wearing shoes either, but I deal with it. Life is full of responsibilities like paying rent, buying groceries and wearing fucking shoes in restaurants. Grow up, little asshole.

It’s not that I am against seeing your cute little piggies, really. It’s just that I worry about your safety. These floors at work are nasty. Just last week, someone broke a glass right where you were standing. I swept it up, but between you and me, I did a total half-assed job. For all I know, there were slivers of glass all over the fucking place. I could have done a better job, but I remember thinking, “Aww fuck it. It’s not like people walk around in here barefoot or anything.”  But then here you are, little three-year old. Do you have any slivers of glass in your tootsies yet? If you do, I’m almost sure that your whore mom is too busy drinking her White Zinfandel to pull her lips away from the glass for two minutes to give you a Band-Aid or anything, so beware.

By the way, the floors are also dirty. Like, really dirty. You know who’s in charge of keeping the floors clean? I am and you already know that I did a half-assed job with the cleaning of the broken glass. Imagine what kind of job I do when I mop. When I mop, I do a quarter-ass job. Sometimes I don’t even use any Murphy’s Oil Soap because the bottle is too far away from where I have to fill the mop bucket with water. And sometimes, all I do is pour enough water onto the mop to make it damp so that my manager will see it and assume that I mopped, Yes, what I am saying is that the floor is as disgusting as the bottom of a chicken coop. Some days I don’t even sweep because I learned that walking around the restaurant before we open gives the illusion that I am sweeping and that’s good enough. When you get home, your mom may be surprised at how dirty the soles of your lil’ baby feet are. Then again, if she’s letting you run around in here barefoot, she obviously doesn’t care about your feet or anything else. Judging by the way she is eyeing that wine bottle, the only thing she cares about is getting her buzz on.

Look, kid, you’re adorable with the food stains all over your shirt and that milk mustache you have had since you came in. I love how your hair is sorta matted down on one side and that scab on your elbow is super cute. You’re really working that whole 90’s grunge/homeless kid look. I just wanted you to know that it might be in your best interest to put on some damn shoes. If your mother doesn’t care, please know that I do. I truly care about you, kid.

If you are too young to read this, I apologize. Just give this letter to your mom and if she is comfortable reading something other than the side of a box of wine, she can read this instead. Oh fuck, I just acknowledged that you can’t read and I kept on going with all these words that you can’t understand. Fuck. Oh, I’m sorry, I have been cursing to you. That was wrong of me. Wait, you can’t read, so whatever the fuck. Fuck it. Just put on your goddamn mother fucking shoes, asshole.

Love,
The Bitchy Waiter.

Found: the Worst Man in America

What a little asshole.

What a little asshole.

This video has been floating around for a day or two now and I was hesitant to post it because I knew it would stir up some controversy. Yes, normally, I’m not one to shy away from controversy, but this one is really upsetting. Lots of people give me shit about coming down on someone’s opinion when all I do all day is spout out my own. “Oh, so you can have your opinion, but whenever someone disagrees with you, they’re wrong?” people tell me. Actually, no. I welcome all opinions and I seldom, if ever, delete differing ones from this blog or from the Bitchy Waiter Facebook Page.

The video was posted on Facebook by someone named Montell L. Jackson who went out to dinner at a place called Fire Mountain in Michigan. As they left, some asshole called them faggots and it just went down from there. It happened in front of the restaurant but the man in the video is NOT an employee of the restaurant. He’s just a delightful piece of shit who happened to be there stuffing food in his face, as if there was any room in his stomach for anything other than vile hatred and sheer stupidity. Of course the video went viral. I think all people have a right to their opinion. If this asshole wants to think that all gay people should be put to death, he can go right on and think it. What I disagree with is his need to yell it across a parking lot to a group of friends who were just minding their own business and trying to have a meal. I am not going to post the Facebook page of the restaurant or the name of the bigot on the video, because I am not trying to ruin anyone’s business or personal life. I know plenty of others will post it and I don’t need to bother. I am posting it because this needs to be seen. More and more, our country is becoming one that is accepting of all people no matter what their lifestyle is. With same-sex marriage becoming the new normal, it is easy to think that we are on the path to equality for all, but then a video like this surfaces and it is a harsh bitch slap to the face as to how far we need to go.

No matter what your feeling are on gay people, only the worst kind of person would ever think this is an appropriate way to treat another human being. I am prepared for the backlash that may come from posting this video and I realize I may lose some followers because of it. However, it’s worth it to me to step of the bitch box for one day and remind people that everyone in this world deserves to be happy. If what you do with your life doesn’t affect anyone, then why should it upset some asshole who is eating in the same restaurant with you?

And kudos to the Montrell for staying cool and calm in the video because I probably would have tried to talk back and then gotten my ass kicked.

 

 


 

Facebook is the New Complaint Box For Restaurants

call a waa-mbulance

call a waa-mbulance

I fell into a deep dark hole last night that I had a very difficult time pulling myself out of. I’m not talking about the camel toe that was happening at Table 4. I’m talking about reading the comments on the Facebook pages of major chain restaurants. They are hilarious. If you are in need of a way to kill at least an hour of your time, by all means, follow my example. There was a time when if a customer had an issue with their meal or service in a restaurant, they simply told their server or asked to speak to a manager. They would have a face to face conversation; the customer explaining their issue and the staff coming up with a solution. Times have changed and it seems that the way people are most comfortable complaining nowadays is via a Facebook Page. AND USING THE CAPS LOCK BUTTON TOO. I guess it’s just easier to go to Facebook than it is to speak to a human being.

I started with Chili’s. The main thing I noticed about the Chili’s Facebook Page is that there are a lot of people in Kaufman, Texas who want a Chili’s in their town. Post after post is from sad individuals in Texas who are craving some crappy food from Sysco.

 

Poor Cari. She probably only has Pizza Hut, Applebee’s and Sonic to satisfy her urge for sub-par food from a chain restaurant.

 

Some people are on the page to compliment Chili’s, like Tara who loves the new look at her local Chili’s and is probably taking notes so that she can spruce up her home. No HGTV for Tara. She’s got Chili’s!

 

 

Most people want to complain though. For instance, Mary is very upset about something that probably has ruined her whole entire life.

 

How can a happy hour be anything but depressing as hell without White Zinfandel? The humanity, Chili’s, my God!

 

And what about good ol’ David who just wants what’s coming to him. All he wants is his fair share.

 

After I grew tired of the whining about Chili’s I went to the Facebook Page of Applebee’s for even more entertainment. The first comment that caught my eye was that of Mary Elizabeth who apparently does not know what the mute button is for on her remote control.

 

Ironic, isn’t it, that she is complaining about “nails on a chalkboard” by using all caps which is the Internet equivalent?

 

And what about Jessi who practically had her child’s birthday ruined when the servers wouldn’t sing happy birthday to him? I can imagine that Jessi’s server went to the kitchen and yelled out those dreaded four words, “I need birthday singers” and the servers all scattered like roaches when you turn on the kitchen light in the middle of the night.

 

I do agree with Jessi that it was shameful that the server dropped half of the dessert on the floor and left it there without offering a replacement. However, I think the first indication that her child’s birthday was going to be shitty was when she pulled into the parking lot of Applebee’s.

Jennifer went to the Facebook page to let them know that she has officially given up on Applebee’s.

 

With that many poor experiences at an Applebee’s you would think she would have given up a long time ago, but Jennifer is not a quitter. She likes to make sure something really really sucks ass before she decides to give up on it. Cold food, hair in the food, raw chicken? No big deal, but I guess the bad service was just the straw that broke the camel toe’s back. However, it looks like the Guest Relations Team is going to send Jennifer a coupon to give them one last chance to prove to her that they deserve her respect. If I know Jennifer, (and I totally don’t) she will go back to Applebee’s as soon as she gets that $5 coupon.

 

I think my favorite thing about all the posts on these pages is that Facebook lets me embed them on my very own blog so that people who read my blog can interact directly with Chili’s and Applebee’s customers. Ah, technology. Feel free to add your comments to the Facebook posts. It’s fun, but beware: if you start to read all the complaints, you will quickly lose two hours of your day and some of your brain cells will rot away as you try to understand what some of them are saying. If you’re like me, and have very few brain cells left,  you might want to save them. However, the sheer joy I get from reading complaints on Facebook is almost worth losing a few brain cells. I’m already a dumb ass so I may as well be a dumber ass.

 

I Think I Caught Ebola From Table 16

either way, I feel like shit

either way, I feel like shit

I don’t want to freak anybody out, but I think I might have Ebola. No, I haven’t been to any West African countries in the last 10 days, but a man at Table 16 a couple of days ago seemed suspicious and I wonder if I caught it from him. Maybe I’m just jumping to conclusions, but I heard that a man here in New York City was taken to Mount Sinai Hospital on Sunday night with a high fever and a fucked up stomach and that they isolated his ass right quick in case it was Ebola. They are saying that it probably isn’t, but what if it is? And what if that man rode the subway and then coughed up a bunch of fucking Ebola spores all over the damn place and one of them landed on a subway pole and then someone else touched that pole and then that someone was the man who was sitting at Table 16 on Sunday?

The Man at Table 16 had a runny nose and a cough and his eyes looked all watery and shit. Yes, it may have been a cold, but it could have been Ebola and I don’t want to take any chances. This morning, I woke up feeling not quite myself so I Googled the symptoms of Ebola, and oh my God, I have like every single one:

  • Fever: Okay, I don’t have that symptom, but still: pretty sure I have Ebola.
  • Headache: Yes! I woke up this morning with a splitting headache. I mean it was pounding and it felt like my brain was trying to escape through my ear holes. I took two aspirin and drank a bunch of water, but my head still hurts and the room is spinning.
  • Joint and muscle aches: Oh My God, yes! My shoulders are sore and so are my legs and my arms. True, I went to the gym yesterday for the first time in three weeks and took a Boot Camp class, but I’m pretty sure the soreness is due to the fact that I got the fucking Ebola from Table 16.
  • Weakness: Yes, yes, a thousand times yes. I was so weak this morning when I got up, I couldn’t get out of bed. I laid there until 11:20 and finally got up to go to the bathroom and then crawled right back to bed. Even now, it is taking every last bit of energy I have to type out this blog post, which could be my last one, thanks to Table 16.
  • Diarrhea: Okay, this is very personal and I hate to discuss it, but yes, this too is a symptom I have. I can’t imagine it has anything to do with the burrito I had for dinner last night at 1:00 AM or the two cupcakes that I had after the burrito. Or the Mountain Dew. The only logical explanation is Ebola, of course.
  • Vomiting: I seem to recall throwing up last night at the Hunters Point subway station on the 7 train. It seems like a dream sorta, but I’m pretty sure it happened on the way home from my show and after I went out for celebratory cocktails. I had many cocktails, mostly vodka ones, but I switched to margaritas at one point and then took a shot of something that a stranger bought for me. Now that I think about it, I for sure threw up last night and it most certainly was because I have Ebola.
  • Stomach pains: My stomach is tied up in knots today. It’s sore from all the dry heaving after I threw up and continued to vomit out air. I can’t think of any other reason that my stomach would be in pain other than catching Ebola from that asshole at Table 16.
  • Lack of appetite: I cannot even imagine eating anything at all today except Saltine Crackers and Ginger Ale. I have no appetite, whatsoever and the thought of putting food into my stomach makes the room start spinning again. Actually, what sounds kinda good is a cheeseburger from McDonald’s. Or Doritos maybe. Or chocolate pudding. But nothing else. I curse this Ebola!

After studying those symptoms, I think I can say it’s official: I have Ebola and I owe it all to the dick at Table 16. (He only left me a 10% tip, by the way.) More than likely, this is my last blog post ever because I’m pretty sure everyone who gets Ebola dies. If by chance, I wake up tomorrow and feel better I will know it is because of one of two things: either a miracle occurred that healed me from this horrible virus or I was just hungover as hell today. Only time will tell.

Farewell.