There has been an awful lot of fuss recently over the tweet by Chef Grant Achatz questioning the couple who dared to bring their baby to his high-end restaurant, Alinea.

I have to say, I am on the fence on this issue. On the one hand, when I have gone out to relax and paid money to have a babysitter watch my kids, the last thing I want to do is listen to someone else’s toddler. And as a parent of kids who can sometimes be disruptive in a restaurant, I do my best to schedule our dining to coincide with the early-bird special diners. I always hope they find my little ones charming and in all likelihood can’t even hear them.

I know that some people have supernatural babies who don’t make a peep and are absolutely perfect when they are out and about. I don’t know that the people debating it online really needed to equate bringing a baby to the restaurant with setting off a pipe bomb. 

If we are going to get our panties in a bunch about a baby interrupting our foie gras and grey poupon, then I am reserving the right to call out a whole list of other people who can stay the hell home too:

Suit with a Cell Phone – I’m not sure if some people have not moved beyond their cup-and-string phone games, so they think that shouting into cell phones is necessary. Without fail I get seated next to some guy in a suit dining alone (surprise) having a yelly lunch with his phone. If you’re trying to be cool dude I’ve got news for you – we all have cell phones now. In fact I was rocking the car phone in 1995 in my sweet Dodge Shadow. Still feel cool?

Drunken Ladies – Like farting contests, it’s all fun and games when we are part of the crowd  making a big raucous. But when we have to listen to it happening at the next table, it becomes the rudest thing ever. Or maybe it’s always rude. Bad example. It’s bad enough that drunk people are are loud and making a scene, but the loudest one always seems to be the one without a screening tool for humour – every single thing is funny. How on earth am I supposed to carry on a serious conversation with my husband about the suspicious mole that I found on the dog with all this constant inappropriate laughter?

Spit Swappers – I’m not sure which couple is more alarming to sit near – the one who is actively making out, or the one who sits on the same side of the booth acting suspicious. It makes me wonder what they are doing under the table. The more overt couples cause me to alternate between staring at my menu like it contains the Cadbury secret, and openly gawking. Whereas the suspicious couples make me feel uncomfortable. Why are they trying to make eye contact with us? That’s when I begin wildly googling the restaurant to make sure that we didn’t accidentally reserve at some kind of key-party sex-swapping establishment. Again.

Party of 4,086 – I loathe being seated at the same time as a large group. They are loud, monopolize the staff, and get all the good lobsters. I have been known to race a bus-load of geriatrics to the door and order before we even sit down. It sounds easier than it actually is. Especially if they have coupons and are handy with a cane.

The Entitled and Rude – Have you ever eavesdropped on the next table and heard how rudely the patrons are treating the server? Or worse – the finger snapping from across the restaurant? It makes me feel all bunchy on my insides when people are rude to other people, but especially when it is to a person in a position of service, because they have to put up with it. Or they can spit in their food. And now I am all nervous that the server is going to mix our table numbers up, and I will be eating saliva soup, and I can no longer eat. If I wanted to worry about spit in my food I would have eaten at home with my children.

Potty Mouth Pete – This always happens when I am dining with my mother for some reason – we get seated next to a person who can’t utter a sentence without at least one word describing mating or body functions. It doesn’t bother me too much – especially as I have embraced cursing as a personal art form – but it makes my mother crazy. And she will say something. And in my experience, people do not usually take her constructive criticism in the good way and say things like “You’re right Ma’am, I apologize for my rudeness. Allow me to get your cheque.” It’s more along the lines of “Mind your own effin business lady!” while I start scanning the room for the closest exit/trap door.

So while we’ve got this dialogue going about whether children should be allowed in restaurants perhaps we can make a new policy to keep some of these people out.

No shirt, no shoes, no manners, no service.

Author

Tara is gainfully employed by the toughest 3 female bosses she has ever had (well except for that one accounting manager who hated her). The pay sucks, but the cuddles are awesome. She drinks a lot of coffee, uses humour as a defense mechanism, and lives in fear of what lurks in her backyard. Keep Tara company on her unfortunately-named blog Don’t Lick the Deck, where she talks about her husband Nerdguy; her 10 year old and twin 8 year old girls; parenting autism and ADHD; and her inability to shop without creating disaster. She is regular contributor to Parentdish.ca who have not yet filed a restraining order.

3 Comments

  1. People sitting on the same side of the booth is creeptastic. Nobody sits on the same side together. It’s wrong, darnit! Unless you’re at a bar watching the game on tv or something. But yes. Stop sitting together like newlywed children of the corn and stop looking at the rest of us. *cringe*

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