Starving Baby or Exaggerating Mother? You Decide.

I doubt your baby is starving.

I doubt your baby is starving.

Oh, entitled parents, how do I hate thee? Let me count the ways, you self-absorbed time suckers who think that the world revolves around you and your precocious brat who won’t shut the hell up even for one second.

Last week, a five top came in; four adults and one diaper-wearing, needy one year old human who required a high chair. I go to greet them at the front door.

“Hello, how are you tonight? Table for five?”

“My baby is starving. I need bread,” snapped the mother.

Really? That’s how we’re going to start our evening together, by you completely ignoring the (fake ass) pleasantries I am offering you? Is it my fault that you, as a mother, failed to bring a goddamn Ziploc baggie of Goldfish to nourish your child during the long trip from you apartment down the street all the way to the restaurant?

What I said: Alright, let me go get some bread for you and then I can pull some tables together for your party to sit down.

What I thought: I’m sorry, but is your baby from some drought stricken country in Africa and he hasn’t had clean water in days? Is your child one of the 15 million who will die of hunger this year? Is he part of the 50% of all children under five years of age in South Asia and one third of those in sub-Saharan Africa who are are malnourished? Is he one out of the eight children in the United States under the age of twelve who goes to bed hungry every night? Or is it that he’s just a little fussy and now you regret throwing away that banana that he didn’t want twenty minutes ago?

I return with the basket of emergency rations and begin to drag two tables together so they can sit down and eat their dinner now that I have practically saved the life of a child who, had it not been for me, would have surely expired. The group sits down and I notice that the child has taken one bite of bread and is now interested in the battery operated candle that is sitting on the table. Starvation averted! Score one for the war against hunger.

“We have a few specials tonight I can tell you about very quickly. Our soup tonight is a chilled corn soup with a cream base. The corn is grilled and it has a red pepper garnish. Our appetizer of the night is-”

“I’m sorry,” mother interrupts. “Can I go ahead and place his order for mac and cheese? He’s really hungry. But no bacon in it.””

I look down at the “really hungry” baby who is mouthing the plastic candle. Right, we don’t want that baby to eat bacon but by all means let him lick that candle that has remnants of Windex, dust and every germ known to mankind.

“I will do it right this second.” I stop pouring water for everyone and firmly set the metal pitcher on the table and leave them to again do my part to solve world hunger, one baby at a time.

“Please rush. This baby is starving,” I type on the order so that that the cooks knows how utterly important it is to get the food right away. I head to the kitchen deciding to wait there until I can return with the sustenance before doing anything else for the table. Six minutes later, the mac and cheese is ready and I go to the table.

“Sorry I didn’t get a chance to finish pouring water but I know how important it is to get food to a starving baby so I stayed in the kitchen until it was ready.” I pick up the pitcher and continue pouring. “So anyway, our appetizer of the night is a roasted beet salad with goat cheese and balsamic dressing…”

Five minutes and two bites of mac and cheese later, the kid is wandering around the restaurant with its mother. Turns out he wasn’t starving after all. It was just another case of an entitled parent thinking that their child deserved special treatment because no other child in the world can be as important as their own. Snap out of it lady. If you’re fortunate enough to be able to afford to eat out at a restaurant, you’re child is not starving. He’s lucky. Most of us who are reading this are lucky.

I hate entitled parents.

5 Ways Servers Get Screwed Out of Tips

This list could be so much longer...

This list could be so much longer…

Thank you to Ken and Leanna over at Decent Humans who made this video about the ways that servers can get totally screwed out of tips. Watching the video, my emotions ran the gamut from anger to pain to gut-wrenching hatred of all humankind.

Enjoy.

Waitress Fired For Being Racially Insensitive? You Tell Me.

Deservedly so?

Deservedly so?

A waitress in St. Louis was fired this week after she did something that was so incredibly offensive that it’s a wonder the ground didn’t open up and swallow her heathen soul the second she did it. She had a table in her section at Patrick’s Westport Grill (Facebook page) that was sat with two people, a man and a woman who happened to be black. When labeling the check so that the waitress would remember who the check belonged to, she looked at the black couple and labeled them as “black couple.” Well, that did not go over so well with the couple who were black who then called the media to get their story out there. The offended customer is named Kimberli Wilson and she says, “Basically my point is people need to know what’s going on at a place where they’re spending their money.”

FOX 13 News

Here are my two questions for Kimberli: what’s going on at Patrick’s Westport Grill that is so shocking and did you not know you were black?

Granted, the waitress could have typed in “African American” and saved herself the drama, as well as her job, but I really doubt that she had any intent to offend the customers. Kimberli says she felt “totally, totally humiliated. I was frustrated, I was angry. I was thinking, really? Are we still doing this in 2015?”

I get why she was upset: because if it had been a white couple sitting at the table, it’s very unlikely they would have been described as a “white couple” unless they were the only white couple in the restaurant and if there was a couple sitting there who was labeled as being white, they would not get upset about it. However, this couple, who was black, was labeled as such and now someone is offended. To me, it seems like a very small mistake and not one worth losing a job over. The owner of the restaurant has apologized for the matter and is giving his entire staff, both FOH and BOH, training for such sensitive issues. Well for everyone except the poor waitress who was fired for doing something she probably had no idea was going to be a problem. It seems to me that Kimberli is making a mountain out of a mole hill but, I grew up with white privilege and it is quite possibly something I don’t understand. Honestly, I would like someone to explain to me if this woman made too much out of something or his her disappointment justified. I am not ignoring the fact that she was upset, I just wish it didn’t end with a waitress losing her job.

In the meantime, I would like to suggest to the waitress who was fired to learn your fucking table numbers at your next job, girl! That’s what they are there for. If you can’t learn them, then I want to offer some other ways you could have labeled this table so that you would know exactly who the check belonged to:

  • People at front
  • Table by front door
  • Man with coral shirt
  • Couple who may or may not go to the tanning bed a lot
  • Couple with skin color that is not green
  • Lady with big huge glasses
  • Lady with short hair and dangly gaudy earrings
  • Lady with an on fleek eyebrow game
  • Lady who misspells Kimberly
  • Lady with four moles on her left collarbone area that if you connect them would create the Liberty Bell

You see? there were plenty of other options!

Bottom line, it appears that the waitress could have been more sensitive, the customer could have been less sensitive, the boss overreacted when he fired her and if people just used goddamn table numbers none of this would have happened.

The Mom from the Diner Defends Her Actions. I Disagree.

Image via The Washington Post

Image via The Washington Post

Unless you live under a rock and your names is Springs1, you have certainly heard by now the story about the Portland, Maine diner owner who yelled at a baby after the parents failed to do anything about the crying for 40 minutes. I blogged about it a couple of days ago myself which you should read here because my version of the story is better than any other version on the Internet. Well, the mother has written her side of the story for the Washington Post and it’s all kinds of annoying. As if the Washington Post hadn’t lowered their standards enough when they did a story on me, now they have really scraped the bottom of the barrel.

The mother’s name is Tara Carson and I would like to take this opportunity now to say hello to Tara because you know she has a Google alert on herself and is gobbling up every last second of her fifteen minutes of fame. Allow me, if you will, to study several lines of her rendition of that fateful day and respond to each of them:

Making national news was the last thing we expected on our quiet summer getaway to Maine this week. However, since you’re a marketing manager in New York City you are thrilled at the chance to get some press about you and your family, right?

We had stayed overnight in Portland, a place close to our hearts where my husband spent a lot of time in the Coast Guard. Nice attempt at playing the Coast Guard/military angle in order to get some sympathy for your side.

When we arrived, we were told there would be a 30-minute wait for a table. I hope you had some fucking crackers in your bag to appease your baby daughter because waiting thirty minutes makes everyone grumpy. Hell, I’m 48-years old and I get pretty bitchy when I have to wait that long for a table.

I ordered pancakes for my daughter, which took about 40 minutes to arrive. At this point, my 21-month-old was getting antsy. I read that the diner warned you that the pancakes would take a while, but you still thought that after waiting half an hour for a table, your daughter would be able to wait even longer for food? And we all know that “antsy” is a code for “screaming like a goat who has a beer can stuck in its throat.”

She wasn’t having a meltdown, so we decided to stay in our corner booth rather than go outside in the rain. In the noisy diner I didn’t see anyone looking at us or think we were causing a disturbance. Again, we all know that “wasn’t having a meltdown” is code for “she was totally having a meltdown.” And I also see what you did there by telling us you were in a corner booth. You think that a corner booth somehow creates a sound barrier that doesn’t allow the bone-rattling shrieks of a starving child to waft beyond your table.

When the food came, my daughter was still fussing. “Fussing” is code for “screeching like a bat out of hell that is being fisted by Bigfoot without any lube.”

Out of nowhere, Marcy’s Diner owner Darla Neugebauer threw to-go containers at my husband and yelled, “Either she goes or you go!” So, what you’re saying is that Darla gave you the option of staying. All you had to do was put your daughter in her stroller (I’m sure it was on of those really big ones and you had it parked in a very inconvenient place) and send her out in the rain. Then you and your Coast Guard hero of a husband could have stayed. You see? Darla was being nice.

She seemed so unprofessional that we didn’t take it seriously. Our waitress seemed embarrassed by the owner’s behavior too. My guess is that the waitress was only pretending to be embarrassed in order to make you feel better. In reality, she was was probably grateful that she works for someone who doesn’t stand for parents who don’t know how to parent their own children.

A few minutes later, Neugebauer, now behind the grill, slammed her hands on the counter. She pointed at my baby’s face and screamed, “You need to shut the hell up!” My husband replied, “Are you serious? Are you really yelling at a toddler right now?” “As serious as a heart attack,” she said, with fury in her eyes. Okay, she yelled it from behind the grill, so it’s not like it was right in your baby’s face or anything. And if she was “fussing” and “not having a meltdown” and being “antsy” for forty minutes, why did it take a complete stranger to make you figure out that it was too much? And I love the “with fury in her yes” bit, but why not really go for it and take some poetic license? Might I suggest the following: “She bellowed as if she had been saving up a thousand years worth of frustration and the words spewed forth from her mouth like a volcano erupting with lava that was filled with vile resentment, sulfur and the hatred of an angry God.” That’s much better, don’t you think Tara?

I’ll never forget the look of fear on my baby’s face. Because you probably took a picture with your cell phone and now it’s your profile picture on Facebook, right?

It was then that I turned to my daughter and said calmly, “This is exactly how I’m raising you not to be.” Umm, she’s 21 months old. I doubt she has the cognitive ability to understand that teaching moment, Tara, but whatever.

We then paid the bill, tipped the waitress 25 percent and left. Uh huh. Right. Sure you did.

I thought that was that. But after I left a Facebook post about my experience on the Marcy’s Diner page… If you really thought “that was that,” you would not have gone to the trouble to find the Facebook page and write more about it.

All of a sudden, thousands of strangers were commenting on my parenting skills. Add me to that list of strangers commenting on your parenting skills, because if your baby was crying consistently for forty minutes, you made the wrong decision when you thought it was okay to stay there and make everyone else deal with your child.

What got lost is that it’s never okay to yell at a baby, especially if you own a restaurant. What also got lost was that a business owner has a right to refuse service to anyone they choose, even a 21-month old baby.

She should not have thrown things or yelled or cursed. But she did, Blanche! She did throw things, yell and curse!

Babies cry and sometimes moms make the call between a tantrum in the loud diner or going out into the rain. And sometimes it’s the wrong call. By the way, there is this new-fangled invention that helps people deal with rain. It’s called an umbrella. Look into it.

It’s compassion I try to model for my daughter. I wish others would do the same. It’s a civilized restaurant that most diners want to sit in and I wish parents who let their children cry for 40 minutes would do something about it before a diner owner has to finally snap and throw a to-go container at the family to make them take notice that their child’s behavior is unacceptable.

Thanks Tara, for the great read. You are absolutely hysterical. If (let’s be honest: WHEN) you get the Google alert about yourself make sure you reach out and say hello to me. And this concludes my rant on the infamous Diner-Gate Scandal of 2015. That is, unless something else comes out about it that I can’t resist putting my two cents in about.

Diner Owner Screams at Child; Becomes World Hero

Bow down to this woman.

Bow down to this woman.

All hail the new queen of the bitches. On bended knee, I bow down to the woman I now worship. Her name is Darla Neugebauer and she owns a restaurant in Portland, Maine called Marcy’s Diner. Sometime over the weekend, a couple of entitled parents dragged their two-year old daughter into the restaurant and thought it was alright for her to scream and cry her ass off for 40 minutes. No, she literally cried until her ass fell off and the child now has a Go Fund Me campaign set up for ass restoration. After Darla could no longer take it and became clear that the parents were not going to do anything about the crying, Darla opened up a  can of Sysco Whoop Ass and yelled at the little girl to get her to shut the fuck up. Of course the parents got all upset and did what any parent would do in this situation which is go to Marcy’s Diner’s Facebook page to complain about it. Darla saw the post and had left her last fuck on the grill next to the three pancakes the little girl had ordered. She did not feel the need to apologize.

‘Life’s full of choices and you’ve got to live with all of them,’’ she told WCSH-TV. ‘‘I chose to yell at a kid, it made her shut-up, which made me happy, it made my staff happy, it made the 75 other people dining here happy, and they left, they may never come back, other people may not come in. Their loss really.’’

The original Facebook post that the mom wrote has since been deleted so I am forced to use my imagination to see what it said. I’m pretty sure it was something like this:

Well, I NEVER! My perfect husband and I took our perfect daughter to Marcy’s Diner this morning and were horribly mistreated. First off all, they should be grateful that we were there in the first place because we normally only like to eat all-organic tofu and quinoa that was harvested by grass-fed chickens, but today we decided to eat among the commoners and have pancakes and bacon. My daughter started crying when she got a whiff of the bacon since it smelled different from what I normally serve her. (I always use a bacon that is flown in from Switzerland and is made from pigs that lived in the Swiss Alps and are humanely killed by a Julie Andrews look-alike who she sings “Edelweiss” as she shoots them in the head with a crossbow.) My precious angel of a daughter had barely uttered out a whimper and the next thing I know the owner was shouting obscenities at her. I immediately apologized for my daughter’s behavior, even though her crying was completely understandable seeing that the bacon wasn’t from Switzerland. I will never go here again and I urge other parents to boycott this restaurant as well. They hate children!! And anyone who hates my daughter must be mentally challenged because my daughter is a perfect snowflake.

The Facebook page for Marcy’s Diner is full of people who are applauding Darla’s behavior and plenty who think she is the beast of Satan. You can go to the page and see for yourself. If you write anything here, tell her Bitchy Waiter sent you. Also tell her I love her.

I leave you with this video of Darla explaining her actions and continuing on her quest to give no fucks:

This is What Might Happen If You’re Rude to Your Server

Just be nice, asshole.

Just be nice, asshole.

Oh, dear customer. Dear, sweet customer who felt it was okay to snap your fingers at me all night and constantly expect me to be there for you whenever you needed something yet completely ignored me when I would ask you any question. Why were you so rude to me? Everything was fine and dandy when you first came in and I thought we started out on the right foot with one another, but somewhere between me filling up your water and serving you the bread basket, which you told me to bring to you rather than asking me, things went downhill. Did a bee get in your bonnet? Did someone piss in your Wheaties? Did a bug crawl up your ass and commit suicide after realizing it had entered a never-ending colon maze of cholesterol that it would never be able to escape?

Even though you never once said please or thank you to me and even though I saw at least one of your friends roll his eyes at how you treated me, I remained professional and respectful to you, determined to be the bigger person. I kept a smile on my face knowing that I would have my vengeance when I sat in front of my computer and wrote a blog post about your wretched behavior. But then I saw another way I could exact my passive aggressive revenge on you.

“Wrap that up for me,” you burp out to me, sliding your plate to the edge of the table and not making eye contact with me. On the plate, I see a sad bite of filet mignon and a few pieces of roasted potatoes that avoided the gaping hole of disgust that you call a mouth. “Hurry up, I gotta go.”

I take your food to the sidestand and wrap it up, pulling out my phone to document what I will do in order to make myself feel better about being mistreated by a low-lying piece of scum such as you. I hope you enjoy your food later, asshole. And thanks for the 12% tip. What a surprise.

 

How I wrap up food to go for a customer who was rude to me. #serverlife #bitchywaiter

A video posted by thebitchywaiter (@thebitchywaiter) on