Rugrats

I've never considered myself a baby person. I, of course, adore my friend's kids but random strangers... I won't go out of my way to pick them up or chat with them. Regrettably, I think my job has caused me to dislike them and their parents, just a little bit more.

Whenever a family walks in the door, I prey that it's not my turn. I've had so many bad experiences with children, just the thought makes me cringe. If the child is still in diapers, I get to look forward to crushed cheerios and Goldfish that gets embedded into the floor. If the child is old enough to complain about their order, I get to look forward to running back and forth making Shirley Temples or Roy Rogers (which an angry mother insist me calling it when getting one for her son. Although a Roy Rogers is technically a cherry Coke).

Advice to all parents: Check out the menu BEFORE you walk in. Getting upset and asking me why we don't serve regular fries and sandwiches for kids is just ridiculous. Bring your own ketchup please. We're an Asian fusion establishment. All we have that resembles ketchup is sweet & sour sauce.

Teaching your stubborn angel manners is also a tool to make your waiter really uncomfortable. Especially when it's busy, I don't have time to stand idly by while you angrily request your child to say, Thank You. "Tommy, tell her Thank you. Tommy? You're not getting another soda till you tell her, Thank you. Tommy, you look at me..." Man, I don't want him to thank me if his heart's not gonna be in it!

If your munchkin is very shy, please don't force them to place their own order. This usually makes me have to get so close to them that their nose is in my ear. "Speak up, honey."

What I hate the most though, is when parents let their rambunctious kids run wild in the restaurant as they each talk on their cell phones. And you KNOW those parents are the ones that would freak out if you corrected their precious darlings. It's hard carrying a full tray of food and cocktails while dodging three boys running full speed and dragging a little one who's tugging on your towel asking repeatedly, "What's that? What's that? What's THAT?"

After babysitting, I feel like I deserve a smile or two from the parents but all I get is a credit card in between the fingers of the hand that's still holding the cell phone. Cold.

What I should do is stand there. "You're not leaving till you say, Thank you. Say Thank You! You're not getting your phone back till you behave!"