Sitting Ducks – An Unbridled Rant by an Anonymous Mom
I’m at a family restaurant with my 18-month-old and my husband. The loud clink of the cutlery and booming voice of the chef is exciting for her and for us too. We love our family date nights. Sadly, other people don’t.
Sometimes if I am planning a special occasion for my little family, I’ll call over to the restaurant and ask if they have a high-chair. The answer pretty much settles it for me. Usually I’ll get an “of course!” or “we don’t, but we have boosters” or “we’re stroller friendly”. If I get a flat-out NO followed by the type of hollow silence that suggests I’ve dialed into a non-kid-friendly zone, I say my thank-yous and make a mental note to go back sans-bebe, or on a rare girls night out.
I’m not someone who gets easily offended by policy. I understand the value of atmosphere, and if my toddler starts screaming blue murder because it’s time to ‘GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO’, well then, I deal with the situation as swiftly and gracefully as I can. Usually this means one of us does a rapid ‘exit stage left’ with my kid, while whoever is paying settles up and leaves a generous tip for all the food that has been thrown (half chewed) on to the ground.
As I said before we only frequent ‘family restaurants’ on our dates so generally we get knowing, tolerant smiles sent our way, and sometimes even an encouraging ‘this too shall pass’ comment from someone who lived through it already.
But tonight that’s not the case. Apparently even when you think your 19 month old has better table-manners then most, you can be proven wrong.
“Would you be offended if we moved your table to a more removed area?”
“Um…why? Was this table reserved?”
“No.. well…It’s not your kid, it’s just the volume is distracting the other diners.”
I glance at the empty tables around us. We are already in the ‘family zone’ – smack dab in between the kitchen and the bussing station.
“I’m assuming you’re referring to the other diner – singular.” I say, still smiling.
In this empty, early-bird special window only one other person is sitting and scowling. And yet, he wins. Following my frosty comment there is an awkward pause reminiscent of a staring contest. I play out a few scenarios in my head.
1. I go Goodfellas on this guy’s ass.
2. I start to cry and leverage his discomfort.
3. I throw my food in his face.
As I weigh my options, my inner diatribe rages on.
My kid? Too loud? In an empty restaurant? Give me a break. The waiter’s ‘I’m trying to be oh-so quiet’ FART was louder than my kid crying.
And what about their policies on everyone else’s “volume”? What about old people? What about drunk people?
Don’t tell me that it’s ok to drink a bottle of wine, and start loudly discussing anything I want when you’re going to slam my kid for crying.
And what about a senior without their hearing aid? I’m just saying, that there are some people out there that can simply not help but use their outside voices. If they were asked to leave there would be Zoomer outrage and it would become a human rights issue in a flash.
And what about people with disabilities? What about those people who face daily challenges with communication, and with control of their faculties and their bodies? If a business asked them to leave because they were considered ‘disruptive’ for their natural expression it would be a federal human rights case, and I’m pretty darn sure there would be some exceptionally harsh words flying around. ‘Nazis’ would likely be one of them.
At this point the steam whistling through my ears has everyone taking deliberate steps away from me, but in the end I disappoint them, and mumbling noncommittally I start to pull our gear together, hating myself just a little bit for not unleashing Joe Pesci fury.
On our bill I notice my kid’s apple juice is comped. I know they thought they were doing something nice, but they basically just valued my kid’s right to exist at $1.75.
“What do you mean I’m funny?!”
I guess I could have said “Actually, could you please ask that man over there to leave the premises? He’s making my kid uncomfortable with his discrimination and judgment and he’s also ruining my dinner.” But it felt stacked against us from the get-go.
Apparently the cranky, middle-class, male, 45-55 target demographic wins in spades over the young family of 3. Huh. Who knew.
That’s 3-to-1, restaurant-owner. Now I’m no expert, but when you look at numbers at the end of the night, I’m pretty sure your ‘Kids Are Loud’ policy is costing you quite a bit.
Also – and please consider this as I take my cold doggy-bag home with me – maybe my kid was screaming because your ‘family-friendly’ eatery with 3 high-chairs and a stack of booster seats somehow, miraculously, has no change tables anywhere in the bathrooms.
Just saying.
