This week a restaurant outside of Pittsburgh announced they would no longer serve patrons who have not yet reached their sixth birthday.
Many comment sections on Facebook and various blogs are crying foul. How dare the owners of McDains Restaurant ban the children?
Doesn't the proprietor, Mike Vuick, know that the youngsters are just trying to express themselves? Certainly, if he hasn't kids of his own he must remember what it was like to be a kid.To Mr. Vuick I say AMEN; do not bother trying to explain yourself, sir for I understand.
Thank you for having the danglers’ necessary to stand up to the parents who think restaurants are the perfect place for Junior to express himself with bloodcurdling screams at the perfect time, just around the time my entree is served.
Unless a parent plans to flex his/her discipline skills, do us all a favor and either order in or hire a babysitter.
Before parents of precocious toddlers take to writing nasty comments, please consider this: Your darlings will eventually grow up and become delightful diners…they will, trust me.
In the meantime, please understand that when this miracle happens, you will realize how completely out-of-line your thinking is regarding the guy at the deuce next to you who is completely pissed off as he tries to enjoy his meal while your kid hauls ass across the restaurant shrieking.
He is not the inconsiderate one in the equation by expecting to enjoy his meal in peace.
A fellow diner ready to cut into his king-sized filet that he fully intends to plunk some serious cash down on did not for one minute think he would also be treated to a side of your Junior's screams and tantrums.
I once waited on a table of twelve adults who were celebrating a college graduation. They made a reservation for 9:30 in the evening.
Soon after I cleared the appetizer plates, a table of four was seated on the opposite side of the restaurant. The party of four consisted of a mom, dad and their two heathens (hey,I am being nice)--Frick and Frack. Frick was about 3 1/2 and Frack held up all five fingers on his left paw when I asked how old he was.
As Mom and Dad relaxed and enjoyed their bottle of wine Frick and Frack were tearing up the joint. I dodged them as I made my way out of the kitchen with a steaming serving tray of soup--yep, all twelve cups.
I returned the hooligans to their table when I found them stringing toilet paper through the hallway.
My party of twelve enjoyed their filets as the children had races from their table to the other side of the restaurant while they argued (and not in their “inside voices) "I'M THE WINNER"..."NO! I'M THE WINNER".
What did mom and dad have to say about the foot race? Ready.Set.GO!! Am I serious you might ask? And I would reply, as serious as a heart attack.
As I was preparing to serve cake and coffee, Frick and Frack were playing “It” on a nearby horseshoe shaped booth. Frick's shoe got caught between the cushions and the table flipped, just missing the back of the guest of honor at the table of twelve.
Water goblets crashed on the table, silverware clanged to the floor, bread and butter plates flew against the wall turning into sharp shards before landing right in the middle of my tray holding slices of cake.
Mom and dad FINALLY got their asses up from their table clear across the restaurant. They promptly asked for the check. As they waited, dad scolded mom for trying to help the bus boys clean up the mess saying "that's what we tip for".
Where were Frick and Frack? Taking their show on the road…the empty parking lot was the perfect place to finish their game.
My point? Servers put up with this crap shift after shift. At least they are getting paid for it. Can you understand why a fellow patron might not think your kid is "all that"?
I know kids are kids. And, truth be told, I love nothing more than to wave back at a cute toddler leaning over the booth behind me as I’m enjoying my supper.
But screaming, misbehaving kids? They have no place in a restaurant. Your kid might be the center of your universe, but the little brat sure isn’t in the same orbit as mine.
If you’re headed out to a nice place, do everyone—fellow diners, servers, bus kids and yourself a favor; hire a sitter.
Oh, yeah…in case you were wondering what Frick and Frack’s parents considered enough to cover the cleanup of broken glass, plates and destruction of the twelve top's dessert—eight percent.
I would have settled for an apology.
Apples don’t fall far from the tree.