The Baby Speaks

Hi, peoples, I am that 14-month old baby who sat in your station last night. I didn't feel like napping this morning so I crawled my diaper-wearing ass over to my my mom's laptop to kill some time playing Angry Birds and fucking up my Mommy's winning steak on Words With Friends. (Sorry, Mommy, but I just played CAT and left the triple word score open where your sister can now play AXED with the X getting the triple word two times. I know it's mean of me, but that's what you get for giving me a bite of apple last night when it should have been abundantly clear that I was screaming for a fucking Oreo.) Anyways, my mom left open a page called The Bitchy Waiter and I started reading it and I have one to thing to say about this Bitchy Waiter person: what an asshole.

First off, I don't even know why my Mommy would be reading this blog. She's not a waitress. (Note to self: remind Mommy that I want my apple sauce served in a bowl next time and not a coffee cup and tell her she needs to wash her apron. It's filthy with food stains, cat hair and baby vomit.) After reading a few months worth of blog posts from this guy, it seems like he has something against me. Me, being a baby. I had to respond, so I hacked into his blog account and here I am. Hi. I'm a baby.

Yes, I make a mess when I go to a restaurant, get over it. I barely have any motor skills to begin with but you're gonna flip your shit just because I spill a few Cheerios on the floor? It's your job to sweep that floor anyway, so what's the big deal? What do you want me to do, get a broom and sweep it up? I'm still trying to understand this whole potty training thing and you expect me to handle a broom? Not gonna happen. Besides, I don't even want the Cheerios. I have been begging for Cap'n Crunch for like six months now but every time we leave the house, Mommy makes sure we have an enormous baggie filled with Cheerios. I keep thinking that if I just throw them on the floor, she will get that I don't like them. Sorry that by throwing them on the floor, you feel like you have extra work to do. Cry me a fucking river, waiter. Go get me some damn crayons.

Another thing: stop carrying big heavy trays right over my head. Uh, hello? My skull is not fully formed yet and if you drop a skillet of fajitas on it, you could seriously damage me. Not to mention, it might stain my new onsie that I just got as a gift from some lady who works with my Daddy. Wouldn't it make more sense to serve food around me rather than over me? Okay, wait. I just realized that most of the time my Mommy and Daddy place me at the head of the table and in the aisle so I guess I can see how that would make it difficult for you. I will talk to them about that and when I say "talk to them" I mean "cry" and usually when I cry they just give me a bottle so I don't really expect there to be any change, so whatever.

And about that time my diaper was changed in a booth? I was totally against that. I wanted to go do it in the bathroom or even in the car, but my Mommy thought it would be no big deal. No big deal to her. Do you think I like having my beanie wienie all out and about right next to a couple of women sharing a Caesar salad? It was humiliating. I screamed and yelled and cried and I even peed all over the booth in protest but she kept right on changing me. Yes, I peed in the booth and no we didn't clean it up. Please, if my Mommy can't be bothered to pick up a few Cheerios off the floor, do you really think she's going to mop up a puddle of urine? It's your job to mop anyway, right?

I also would like to discuss breastfeeding in a restaurant. Who cares? If my Mommy is going to eat at a table then I want to eat at a table too. I know that her boobies are a little veiny right now and maybe it's not the most fun thing for you to look at when you're trying to refill a water glass but that's how it goes. Maybe you think it would be better for her to take me into the bathroom but I really don't want to eat while she is sitting on the toilet. She does that at home way too often and when I am out in a restaurant I want it to feel like it's a special occasion. Besides, the time that I have to suckle my Mommy is limited and I will not be able to do it forever. It is something I will probably only get to do for like five or six more years and I want to take advantage of it as often as I can. So whether it be at home while we are watching Real Housewives or while we are on the Q32 bus or in your station at the restaurant, that is some real Mommy and Me time right there, so I'm not gonna apologize for it. I will, however,  apologize for that one time she fed me at the grocery store and then forgot to put her milk makers back in her blouse and she finished her grocery shopping that way. Upside? The guy at the deli counter gave us our Boar's Head turkey for free that day. Score!

Okay, I better wrap this up. My nap time will be over soon and I still need to add some shit to our Fresh Direct order. (Oreos, Cap'n Crunch, peanut butter...) Mommy will be coming in here to check on me any minute unless she had an extra glass of Franzia, in which case I have an extra half hour. In conclusion, I want to tell Bitchy Waiter and all you other servers to chill the fuck out with all the "I hate babies" bullshit. You were a babies once too, you know. We're doing the best we can. If you don't like us, then deal with our parents. They're the ones who make the decisions. Well, we make some decisions. For instance, I just now decided that I am going to take a dump as I type this last paragraph. I understand that I could crawl over to the bathroom and sit on the My Little Poopy Pony toilet, but I'm gonna be a baby for as long as I can. It's what we babies do. The next time I go to a restaurant, I promise not to throw Cheerios onto the floor if you promise to stop rolling your eyes every time you see my stroller. Okay, my dump is finished. (When did I have corn?) Hopefully, Mommy is done with her Franzia break because I'm gonna start crying now so she can come clean me up.

Bye bye, bitches.



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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.


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Babies suck

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 it's 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.
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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.