Category Archives: babies

Screaming Children Will NOT Be Tolerated!

We all know how I feel about babies in restaurants. It’s not that I hate babies. Really, I don’t. I just want parents to control them when they are in restaurants (and movie theaters, planes, subways, grocery stores, bars, liquor stores, porn shops and the world in general.) I have never been mean to a child when I am at work and even when I am eating out and there is some adorable tot playing peek-a-boo over the booth behind me, I will tolerate it. But a restaurant in North Carolina finally put up the sign that we have been wanting to make ourselves for years. “Screaming children will not be tolerated!” I say bravo to the owner of Olde Salty’s for standing up and making her restaurant a place that she wants to be in. You know that sign stirred up all kinds of controversy when they taped that shit to the door. The stroller moms probably formed a brigade and rolled down the street chanting “Just because my baby cries, doesn’t mean I can’t have fries!” They pelted the manager with baby wipes and formula bottles while the whole time the babies were thinking, “I don’t even give a shit, let’s go to fucking Chuck E. Cheese and call it a day.” According to the owner of the restaurant, business has never been better. Of course! There is a whole demographic out there who will flock to a place if they know that their eardrums won’t burst when Junior wants another cracker.

People who don’t have kids don’t necessarily want to be around them. It’s a fact. Many of us have made the conscious decision to be childless because we would rather spend our money on vacations, dinners, cocktails and electronics than new shoes every six months, school supplies, college educations and whatever else a child might need, like food. One time I worked with a woman who told me that I was selfish for not having children. She actually got mad at me that I was old enough to have children, in a relationship and still didn’t want to have kids. To me it seems more selfish to have a kid when you don’t really want it. If I can’t take it to the kennel or throw down a wee wee pad for it when I go out of town, then no thank you. She was shocked. Keep in mind this “shock” was coming from someone who was pregnant with her third baby and she didn’t even realize she was with child until she was 7 months along. Wow, there’s an attentive mother for you.

I may rant too often about kids in my station, but it’s my blog and I can rant if I want to. Lately, there have been a lot of Anonymous haters who get on here and complain about what an ass I am. To them I say this: the blog is called The Bitchy Waiter. The title should give you a general idea about what the blog will be about. If this is not your cup of (not hot enough, herbal) tea, then maybe you should find a blog that is more up your alley. If this is not up your alley, then shove it up your ass. Okay?

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Just In Case You Couldn’t Remember How I Feel About Kids

I am taking my lazy ass to the beach today, so please enjoy this (tired from like 18 months ago old shitty) post while I am squeezing out the last days of summer. Sorry, boo bears.

So many mothers have this sense of fucking entitlement like she is the first woman to ever push a baby out of her Sweet Potato Pie Hole. It’s been happening for thousands of years, no big whoop. I cannot write enough about my disdain for children in my station. I don’t want them in my personal life so why the fuck would I want one at work? But people bring their babies in and then they think it’s my responsibility to make sure the music is not too loud. Or they have the nerve to ask me to heat up their baby food. Why would they think I have time for that? It’s not my baby. I am supposed to ignore my other tables and then bother the kitchen staff to heat up a bottle of milk? I’d rather you just breastfeed if it means I don’t have to do anything. Not that I want to get a close up view of your areola when I refill your Diet Coke. These are the same people who bring babies to an R rated movie and think it’s okay for everyone else to listen to it for two hours. No one cares about your baby except the people who know your baby (and some of them only act like they give a shit.) No one in the restaurant wants to step around your giant stroller or listen to it cry or watch you whip out your tit so it has an appetizer. Leave them at home with a sitter. Or just leave it alone while you come out to eat. I am sure it will be fine, whatever. Just leave a post-it note on its head with your cell phone number so if there is a problem the police will know how to reach you. You could always take it to Chuck E. Cheese where they live for that shit. The people who work there love it when they have a room full of screaming babies. Or better yet, order in. We have take out menus. Just don’t sit in my station.

Welcome to Baby Land

I have been back to my restaurant for two shifts after a six week hiatus. Turns out nothing has changed. As I came up out of the subway to go to work, I saw the same homeless guy with the same cardboard sign saying he had the same disease he had the last time I saw him. I was immersed in depression. Not for him. Me. All of a sudden it was blatantly clear that things were the going to be the same at the restaurant as they were six weeks ago when I left.

Today at lunch, I was reminded yet again how horrible Upper East Side mothers are. Seriously, do they take a class at the Learning Annex on how to be so fucking annoying? Table one: three moms, three babies, three enormous strollers. And as usual, they barricaded themselves in making it impossible for me to serve them anything. They even acknowledged it saying “oh, we’re making it really difficult for you, aren’t we?” but did they move the strollers? Of course not. That would be considerate and also make sense and Upper East Side mothers don’t do those things.

Table two: two women, two babies, two gigantic strollers. I knew these ladies would be a pill when one of them asked me if the Chopped Salad was chopped. No, the Chopped Salad is a sandwich. Bitch, please. Then they sent the Diet Coke back because it tasted funny, even though nobody else in the place felt that way about it. I think their taste buds were off from having their heads too far up their asses. And of course they needed lemons for the water. And when I told one we didn’t have a baby changing station, you’d think I just farted on her. Bitch, please, I fart as I walk by you, not on you.

Table three: two ladies, one baby, one stroller that was bigger than a mid-town studio. This mom was flabbergasted when I told her we didn’t have American cheese for her brat to chew on. “Really? No American cheese?” “Really,” say I. “Well, don’t you think that’s weird?” she asks. I told her that I personally don’t like American cheese so it made me very happy that we didn’t have it. That shut her up and she ordered mozzarella. Her food came out and she was upset that her veggie burger came with fries (read the menu) and needed me to take them off the plate. And then she sent back her brat’s broccoli because it wasn’t soft enough. She prefaced it with a “I hate to be a pain in the neck, but…” Bitch, please. If you hate doing it don’t do it. I hate having my eyes poked out with toothpicks so I just don’t do it. Take a lesson. The baby threw it’s rattle on the ground after banging it on the table for about a hundred hours. When I served their food, I kicked it under the booth so maybe they would forget about it and then I could throw it away when they left. They saw me though. “Oops, I didn’t see that there.” I didn’t get it for them though. I made the fat grandma get it. Who cares?

It’s so nice to be back at work. God how I missed it. I need a drink.


We don’t like children

The restaurant I work in is not for children. I don’t like kids. Cute ones are not any better than ugly ones, they all suck. However, people have in their head that our restaurant is for their children and constantly bring them in. When they come in with their offspring in the giant strollers and push furniture around to accommodate themselves it really pisses my shit off. For two Wednesdays in a row we have had a fucking Mommy and Me group overtake us. Nine women come in with at least nine strollers and then get all upset that there is no place to park them. Really? Why don’t you park it up your fat asses, ladies? They take over a whole section and barricade themselves in behind the strollers. It’s like the freaking Great Wall of China but instead of brick it’s made of stroller and baby. And I can’t get to the table to do the job that I don’t want to do anyway. I have to navigate through the Stroller Wall being careful to not wake the little darlings just so I can take nine orders of salads with everything on the side and low fat dressing because they are all trying to lose their baby weight. Heads up ladies, the low-cal dressing that I am serving you is actually full fat because I don’t give a shit about your baby weight. And you can all choke on the slices of lemon that you want for your water. You sit in my station for two hours and ignore your bratty crying whore children and ring up a check for 75 bucks and then tip me 10%. We don’t have a children’s menu, we don’t have crayons or paper, the music is going to stay loud because that’s what we do and we do not have American cheese. Get over it. Take your ugly baby and roll it down to McDonald’s for a kiddie meal and while you’re there get yourself a large number 5 combo because that baby weight is here to stay and you may as well live it up.