For Amos (A.K.A. I Hate Kids)

While having one of the best meals of my entire vacation, I was visually assaulted by the horrific sight of a booth that was crammed with unruly children. The picture that you see is an actual photo of these awful beasts. I was going to draw one of those black lines across their eyes to protect their identity, but I couldn't figure out how to get Photo Shop to work and I decided that I didn't fucking care anyway. This family deserves to be seen so that waiters across the land can steer clear of these people if they ever venture into their section.

I was in a great restaurant in San Francisco enjoying good food, good cocktails and better company when out of the corner of my eye, I saw a little girl wandering around the restaurant with a napkin on her head. She thought she was playing Princess Fiona or some shit by prancing around but really she was just in the mother fucking way. The server who was tolerating this table was also my server and his name was Amos. I promised him that I would write about these brats and I truly hope he sees it. (Amos, if you read this, give me a sign.) These three little girls were all over the place. The mother had her head resting in her hands as if she had given up on the whole "living a happy life" thing and the father was just as removed. He looked like he had mentally checked out of the situation right after he realized that he had three daughters and estrogen would be ruling his household for the rest of his life. The three girls were loud and irritating to everyone around them. My favorite part of their performance was when they each decided that chopsticks would be fun to use as musical instruments and serenaded the whole restaurant with a rousing rendition of every one's favorite song, "We Want to Ruin Your Meal."

Amos came up to the table to gauge our cocktail situation. "Is everything alright here?" he said.

As I slurped down the last of my first drink, I slurred to him, "We are good, but how are you? How's that table over there treatin' ya?" Being the professional that he was, he answered with a smile. "Oh, they're fine. No worries." I looked at Amos with a deep look of understanding and said, "I'm a waiter. You can tell me the truth." Amos sighed and said through gritted teeth and forced grin, "They're a pleasure." But he said the word "pleasure" as if it meant that he was getting a homemade tattoo with a needle, a candle and a ballpoint pen. I felt for Amos, I really did. It seemed so unfair that I was on vacation and not having to deal with little twats like them while he was slaving away at work. But then I remembered that I didn't really know Amos and asked him to brink me cocktail number two.

As soon as the table of terror left, there was a collective sigh amongst the section because finally we could all enjoy our meal without the screeching of misbehaved children and the deafening silence of their inattentive parents. I looked over at the booth and saw the requisite pile of food and napkins thrown on the floor and watched Amos as he got down on his hands and knees to clean it up. Again, I felt a little guilty that I was away from the world of service while others carried on in my place. And then I ordered cocktail number three. Amos, you rock,

Click here to follow The Bitchy Waiter blog.
Click here to follow The Bitchy Waiter on Twitter.
Click here to find The Bitchy Waiter on Facebook.

Boring Blog

Going back a few posts ago that I wrote about comments I have decided to take the advice of someone who suggested that I "grow up, have a family and write about something that matters." Even though I feel that the Internet does not need another blog post about the everyday life of a family, I thought I would give it a try. Therefore, I give to you, the most mundane blog post in the history of The Bitchy Waiter.

Frazzled But Happy Stay-at-Home Mom writes:

Oh my stars, you won't believe the day I had today, dear blog readers. First off, I awoke to the smell of coffee. That's right! My husband got up before me and made coffee and it's not even Mother's Day! (But our anniversary is coming up if a certain someone is reading this. Hee hee! LOL!) I went into the kitchen and saw my darling hubby drinking his coffee and reading the newspaper over the sink. He told me he couldn't sleep and that's why he had already gotten up and made coffee. Oh well, I thought it was for me. But he's still the bestest husband in the whole world. LOL!!. He went off to work and I set about my day.

I went to wake up Suzy Lou and she looked so cute in her Strawberry Shortcake sheets that I didn't have the heart to wake her up. She was wrapped up like a mummy and I almost laughed so hard that it would have woken her up. Lucky for me, she sleeps like a log so she didn't hear me. LOL! I took a picture of her so I will be posting it as soon as I get a chance. I went to wake up her brother Billy Boo. The little angel had thrown his Thomas the Tank blanket off the bed and he wasn't covered up at all. My goodness, I hope he wasn't cold last night. (Reminder to self: set the alarm for the middle of the night to make sure he is still covered up.) He woke up and rubbed his little eyes and asked me if he could have pancakes. And guess what! I couldn't resist! So even though today was bacon and egg day, I made him pancakes. A mother's work is never done, LOL. I still made Suzy Lou her scrambled egg whites and crispy bacon so my morning routine was a little off. It really threw me in a tizzy to be so off schedule but sometimes we moms just have to let the kids know how special they are and be wild and crazy. It's these special memories that make being a stay-at-home mom such a blessing. Praise God and all his blessings, Amen. LOL!!

The kids had a play date today and their friends Peter, Paul and Mary came over. Their mom Jenny is a doll and we love that our kids enjoy each other so much. Plus when Jenny comes over we will split a glass of White Zinfandel so we moms have our own "play date" too. Shhh! Don't tell my husband that I was drinking on the job. He might fire me!! LOL! Just kidding. He would never fire me for that. As long as I have dinner on the table when he gets home from work, he is happy. Besides, I know he reads this anyway. (Hi honey! I wuv you!)

After the play date was over, I put the kids down for a nap. I read them a story first and Billy Boo did the cutest thing. He wanted to read the story to me!! Can you believe it? So he took the book and "read" to me. It was darling! I videotaped the whole thing and I will be posting it soon so you can see for yourself how precious it was. And Suzy Lou played along and pretended that he was reading too. She is such a good big sister, isn't she?? Hugs to her. I LOVE MY KIDS!!

I spent the rest of the day doing my usual routine. Laundry, dusting, sewing, gardening, and then I capped it off with churning some homemade butter. That class I took at the Learning Annex on turn of the century homemaking is really paying off! My husband will be so pleased when he gets home and sees that yummy butter on the table! Maybe tonight we will finish off that White Zinfandel and have our own romantic evening. (hee hee!) After the dishes are washed and the kids are in bed of course.

And there you have my day, dear bloggers. I have the best life in the world. The most perfect family!! And I love that I can blog about something that really matters.

love,

The Frazzled but Happy Stay-at-Home Mom

And The Bitchy Waiter just threw up in his mouth a little bit...

Click here to follow The Bitchy Waiter blog.
Click here to follow The Bitchy Waiter on Twitter.
Click here to find The Bitchy Waiter on Facebook.

I Hate Kids, Part 378

Okay, so I am not waiting tables because I am busy being a full time actor and shit, but I have spent a lot of time eating at restaurants and sitting on the other side of the menu. I took myself to breakfast this morning because I couldn't bear to start my day with another bowl of Cheerios and banana with a yogurt chaser. I found a quaint little diner that was going to satisfy my craving for eggs and toast. Yes, I could make these myself, but I wanted them to be cooked by someone else and then served by a waiter. All was well. I placed my order and sat in anticipation. And then it happened. A couple came in with their two adorable little girls and when I say "adorable," I mean "bratty spoiled crybabies who couldn't shut the fuck up."

The younger of the girls was named Megan and I know that because I heard her name about hundred and fifty fucking times within a ten minute period. She wanted bacon and french fries for breakfast and her parents drew the line on that request. However, they told her if she would eat eggs for breakfast then they would take her to get a cupcake afterwards. Seriously? "No" to the french fries but yes to the cupcake? What the fuck point is that? I say if you're on vacation let her have french fries for breakfast and then ask her to eat some fruit too. The dad was full of empty threats. As a non-parent (praise be to Jesus that my seed has not been sowed), it seems clear that threatening something with no intention to follow through on the threat means nothing to the child. When Megan wouldn't sit in the chair, the dad told her that they were going to end the vacation and go back home right then. Now we know that is not going to happen. And so did the girl. She was probably thinking, "Oh Daddy, I know you already put down a non-refundable deposit on our room and have already requested these days off from work so shut the hell up." And then a few minutes later when Megan threw her sunglasses on the floor and wouldn't pick them up, he told her if she didn't pick them up, he was going to throw them away. And what did Megan think? "Oh, Daddy, you aren't going tot throw away these perfectly good sunglasses away after you just spent $10 on them. That would be silly, you dumb fuck of a daddy." And when he threatened to make her sit on the corner, she actually said, "Oh, what corner?" He was clearly setting his daughter up for a future in prostitution.

Eventually he began treating the girl like a dog by yelling commands at her. "Megan, sit. Megan, stay." Megan did none of these things. My dog is better behaved than this little girl. At one point, I looked over at the father and he had his head in his hands. The look in his eyes was one of sadness and desperation. It was as if he couldn't believe that he only gets one vacation a year and here he was stuck on his vacation with his family. I almost felt sorry for him for a second. And then my omlette showed up. As I took my first bite of home fries I heard the father pleading one more thing from his daughter. "Megan, get your mouth off the chair."

Kids. I hate 'em.


Click here to follow The Bitchy Waiter blog.
Click here to follow The Bitchy Waiter on Twitter.
Click here to find The Bitchy Waiter on Facebook.

My Child, My Pet

Riding on the lovely 7 train yesterday, I spotted one of those mothers who thinks it's a good idea to attach their child to a leash. However, the leash was made to look like a a monkey so as not to seem so I-have-my-kid-on-a-leash-ish. So the monkey part looked like it was hugging the kid and then the tail was what the mom was holding on to. But, still. Your kid on a leash? As she got onto the train, she dragged her baby behind her. It just seemed wrong. Call me old fashioned but can't you just keep your eyes on your child instead of a rope? But then I started thinking about how handy those leashes would be in a restaurant. Every person who asks for a child's menu would also get a leash that they would be required to attach to the kid so that it is forced to stay at his table. Kiddos, don't be getting all in my fucking way when I'm trying to carry a tray of food. Put that leash on! And in the restaurant, the leashes should not be all cute adorable ones that look harmless and fun. I want real actual leashes. From Petco. The kind that are made of polyester or leather. And I want studs and spikes on them so if the child moves so much as an inch away from the table, the discomfort will force him back to the booster seat they made me get. Or better yet, why not a leash made of a bungee cord? I like this idea. A really elastic one. And I would lure the child away from their table with a big pile of chicken fingers. The kid would walk towards the food and then I would inch it a little further away and keep doing that until the adorable tot is struggling against the elasticity of the cord. One foot further and then the bungee cord would do its thing and snap that kid right back to his seat where he was supposed to be anyway. I would lure the kid up and over tables first so that when he was being bungeed back to his inattentive parents he would go under tables and over booths and maybe get smacked around a little bit on the way. It would be an excellent lesson for that poor dear child. Stay in your seat. Don't move. Be quiet.

Click here to follow The Bitchy Waiter blog.
Click here to follow The Bitchy Waiter on Twitter.
Click here to find The Bitchy Waiter on Facebook.

Deep in the Heart of Texas

My vacation is over and I am back home safely ensconced in my tomb of comfort in New York City. I spent the last eleven days in Texas where the rivers flow with cream gravy, the air is filled with the aroma of "fried" and margaritas come from the tap. I hesitantly call it a "vacation" since it was really a necessary trip to go visit family. Henceforth, it shall be called "oblication." While there, I became part of that group of people who I hate waiting on. Many times, I found myself at a restaurant as part of a large party, with separate checks and children under the age of six. I cringe just remembering the look on many a server's face over the last week and a half as we came into a restaurant.

One night we were a party of nine. As soon as we sat down, my seven year old nephew opened a packet of crackers and poured ketchup on them to create the most disgusting sandwich I have ever seen. I declined his offer for a bite of it. I also spied him pouring salt and pepper onto the table and making designs with it. I then saw him standing on the chair and also running around the restaurant a few times. At one point, he opened up the squirt ketchup bottle and sucked some of it out. Yeah. These are the children that I hate in my station and suddenly I am related to one of them and sitting next to him. A big loud holla out to Amanda who was our server. The girl kicked ass and was never phased by anything. At the end of the night I went to tell her thank you and also to plug The Bitchy Waiter. She told me that one of the other servers told her that a kid at one of her tables was licking the ketchup bottle. "Yeah, that was my nephew. Sorry." She shrugged her shoulders and said, "No big deal. I'll throw it out after you leave."

When we left the restaurant, I turned back to look at the table and saw a pile of Saltines on the floor. I grimaced and weakly yelled out, "Thanks, Amanda." It was official. I was the person I hate.

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.

Yeah, we don't have that

So this man came into my place of employment yesterday with his whore wife and their two whore children. They sat at a whore booth and let the kids play with the sugar caddies because that's what whore children like to do. I swear to God, what is the appeal of dumping a sugar caddie out in the table? I want to market it for the latest toy craze and make a million dollars on it. The kids play with that shit like it's a freaking Cabbage Patch doll, or whatever the latest craze is. (I know the Cabbage Patch craze was like 25 years ago, so shut up.) Anyhoo, he orders a peanut butter and jelly sandwich for his boy whore child. It's not on the menu. I tell him we don't have it and he looks like he is going to have a stroke or heart attack or some shit. "What? You don't HAVE peanut butter and jelly?" Nope, we don't have that. If it's not on the menu, that means we DO NOT HAVE IT. After he lifted his jaw off the floor he decided to order a bagel and he asked for it with jam. No problem. Then a light bulb went off over his head. He says to me, "so you have jam and you have bread and you must have peanut butter some where, but I can't order a peanut butter and jelly sandwich for my bastard son the retard?" Nope, we don't have that. "But-" Nope, we don't have that. "well maybe you can-" Nope, we don't have that. Meanwhile his wife finally pulled her head out of her ass and said to him to let it go. If it ain't on the menu, don't order it. Just because we have the ingredients to make a coconut fucking cake does not mean we are going to make one. We also have the ingredients to make whore child stew but don't order it. (The recipe is very simple. It's bits of whore child into boiling water with a carrot and bullion cube. But don't order it because we don't have it.)


myspace hit counter

You're a horrible parent

So this lady drags her bratty ass children into the restaurant last week. "We're from California," she tells me like I am supposed to be all excited about it. Why do people from California think it's so cool to be from California? I don't give a shit where you are from, what you did before you got here or what you are doing after. Tell me what you want to eat and then leave a tip and get the fuck out. So she calls me over to ask me a favor. She wants to know if I can turn the television off for her. Never mind that there is some stupid ass football game on that a lot of people seem to care about, she wants it off. When I asked her why, she had a real doozy of an answer. She said that in her house (in California, you know!) they didn't eat with the TV on because they wanted their kids to pay attention to them instead. And here in our restaurant with the television on, the kids were distracted and paying more attention to it than to her. Seriously, she said that. I told her no even though I was thinking that maybe if she was more interesting and not such a bitch her kids might like her more.