Kids in Restaurants - Conclusion

The other night, I heard a kid say "shut up" to his mom. "Shut up," can you believe that? And Mommy Dearest didn't even acknowledge this misbehavior. Talking back should not be tolerated.

When I was little, my older brother said to my Mom, "If you don't like the heat in the kitchen, get out!" What did she do about it? She grabbed him by the arm, tossed him out onto the front porch, slammed the door, and said, "No, you get out!" Oh and two minutes later she threw him a suitcase. My brother, the poor bastard, was so busy bawling his eyes out, that he didn't even notice the suitcase was empty. May have seemed cruel, but it wasn't. And guess what? The poor bastard learned his lesson. And that lesson was, never, never, ever, ever fuck with Mom! Hell even I learned that lesson and I was an innocent bystander.

Parents should use threats. Oh and not idle threats, and if you Dr. Phil listening types have a problem with this, tough shit! Real threats are needed. Sure it sounds extreme, but I bet it would work. "You sit down and act like a grown up or do you know what? I'll sell you on the internet, that's what! I bet I can get at least 20,000 grand for a cute six year old like you on E-Bay."

I know it's good to be young at heart and acting your age, and that kids will be kids. The only thing restaurants workers are asking for is please be civilized. Where they work isn't a playground, so parents make your tots stop running around all over the place and make them sit the fuck down! They have a job to do, and don't want to have to maneuver through a fucking Romper Room obstacle course.

Don’t you love how I put the word fucking before Romper Room? Well, I do.

So, I am out the other night and I see this server carrying a big tray full of food and drinks, and I think he really didn’t want to be worried about Johnny Snot Nose doing laps around my legs. I mean, I'll be honest, when I was a server I once tried to drop a sizzling Fajita plate on a piss ant's head. But let me tell you, one thing about the youth of today, the fuckers are quick, so I missed!

Oh, the only thing that bothers me more than the pre-school brat who is all hopped up on caffeine and sugar from those nine Mountain Dews he has drank, is that baby. That crying fucking baby! "Wah, wah, wah, wah." Please, shut him up! I know newborns are restless, but after about ten minutes, they're just like a car alarm in the city. You want to take a bat to them.

Imagine the theme from the movie "Jaws." Duh nuh...duh nuh...duh nuh. "Coming to a restaurant soon, " duh nuh, duh nuh, duh nuh, duh nuh, "The crying baby!!!"

People do something, before I find a dingo and make him eat your baby! Take the kid outside, or pop a breast in his mouth, but if you do that, make sure you do it in the bathroom, because people don't need to be distracted by Little Jimmy sucking on a nipple. (You never want to look, but you always do. It ends up being embarrassing if you get caught. Plus in your mind it is like they added a side of areola to your Cobb Salad.) Oh and if you do it in public and have nice ones, it's not good for the restaurant, because most of the male customers will be eating while sporting a chubby. (It is great when this happens. Every guy ends up walking funny to the Men’s Room.)

But if all fails with the crying baby, go get a baby gun. But please remedy the situation before I come to wit's end and lose it. Because if I snap, look out! Remember, there's a soft spot on the back of a baby's head and I may have a soup spoon in hand. And one quick "whack" and Jimmy is going to be riding the short bus to school in the future. He'll be walking around, wearing a helmet and stuttering. He'll be saying, "You, you, yyyyou, should have sssstttopped me crying yyyyyears ago at that rrrrrrestaurant! Ththththanks alot, mmmmom and ddddad!"