I’m in the public library in my town typing this. I’m homeless until Friday afternoon. Expect a great story next Monday. Read the random posts at the top of the page.

If you pray, pray.

Love,
Ryan

Children can be a whiny, needy bunch. But is it just me or are parents using that to their advantage? Every day, I notice that more and more parents are exploiting the fact that we servers will hop to it when a little kid wants a refill or an extra side.

I absolutely love it when their kids call them out on it too.

Last night, I gave a little girl her lemonade when the mom, sounding angry for no good reason, demands that her little princess gets some extra cherries.

Mom: “My little girl wanted cherries. Why didn’t you get her cherries.”
Me: “I’m sorry, I must not have…”
Little Girl: “I didn’t ask for cherries, Mommy. I wanted…”
Mom: “Yes, you did.”

And then, in a whisper…

Mom: “We talked about this.”
Little Girl: (loudly) “But I don’t like cherries, Mommy. Why do I have to eat the ch…”
Mom: “She’ll have some cherries.”

That jerk of a woman. If you want cherries, lady, just ask for some. Why you’d want them to go with your Corona (at four-thirty in the afternoon, no less) is beyond me, but at least have the cajones to ask for them yourself.

So I come back with some cherries. Three to be exact.

Mom: “Only three?”
Me: “Would your daughter like some more?”
Mom: “Yes.”
Me: “And how many more would your daughter like?”
Mom: “Umm…five more.”

That tart bitch.

A table of eight was given to me two nights ago. As I approached the table and asked what they’d like to drink, I was asked a question I’d never been asked before (nor do I believe I’ll ever be asked again).

Her: “Before I order a drink, is your coke carbonated?”

I thought she was trying to ask if our soda was a little flat, so I started to answer when I saw the woman next to her start cracking up. Oh, trying to play a joke on the old waiter, eh?

Me: “No, ma’am, we have non-carbonated Coca-Cola. Would you like a glass?”
Her: “No. You’d better give me the un-sweet tea.”

Now the woman next to her was chuckling even harder. Her face was a bright red and there were tears coming down her face as she tried to contain all the laughter she could.

Me: “Now you know, ma’am. The un-sweet tea is non-carbonated as well.”
Her: “It’s okay. At least now I’m prepared for it.”
Me: “Well, as long as you’re prepared for it.”

For the rest of the dinner, the woman that could not stop laughing talked with the woman who inquired as to whether or not we have carbonated soda. Come to find out, they were complete strangers and the woman was simply laughing because The Carbonation Woman was asking such a ridiculous question.

Whatever, I still got a 25% tip out of it from both of them.

Customer service in America is nearly impossible.

In America, there is a sense of entitlement that is unmatched by any other country in the world. Americans believe that America is the greatest country in the world, so naturally Americans believe they are the greatest PEOPLE in the world and deserve the greatest SERVICE in the world.

And it’s not just adults, although middle-aged Americans can be some of the most self-centered people in the world. No, this sense of entitlement is being passed down to younger generations every day by mothers and fathers who feel that just because they have a little money to wave around, they deserve to be treated as though they were divinely-appointed kings and queens.

For example, a seven-year-old boy was drinking some pineapple juice the other day. We were out of the larger glasses (as this restaurant does quite frequently, we’re terribly-stocked) and so I brought the child his juice in a 16oz. glass instead of an (adult-size, mind you) 24oz. glass.

Sounds harmless, right? Not to this seven-year-old.

The kid: “Ummm…sir…why am I receiving a smaller glass than that of my parents?”
Me: (Shocked at his grammar and diction) “Oh, all the larger glasses are dirty. I’m sure that by your next refill the adult glasses will be…”
The kid: “That is unacceptable.”
Me: “That’s what?”
The kid: “That is unacceptable.”
Me: “Okay, well, what I can do is…”
The kid: “Take this glass (he hands me a cup from an adjacent table) and clean it. It’s not that hard.”

Are you kidding me? I wanted to scream at this little boy. I wanted to tell him that he didn’t deserve to be treated like a prince. I wanted to yell at him about how Santa wasn’t real and how the Easter Bunny would stab him in his sleep if he had the chance and how the Tooth Fairy was really a mass murderer, but I didn’t. I took the moral high road.

Against a seven-year-old. I shouldn’t have to be making the decision to take the moral high road when dealing with a seven-year-old.

Instead, I just put on my fake-happy grin, looked at the parents for some support and received none. Absolutely none. These parents just had some sort of satisfying grin like their little Johnny had done exactly as he’d been taught by his two sorry excuses for parents.

There you have it. Here sitting next to little Johnny were two parents who had instilled in this seven-year-old a sense of entitlement so deep and so ingrained that he will always be treating people as though they are beneath him. It is the parents’ faults. It has to be.

So I go and get the seven-year-old a new glass. I personally wash a larger glass, go to the restaurant’s bar, take out some juice and fill it up for the kid. As I’m walking back to the table all I can think is that the glass is far too large for a child as young as seven. It’s almost too large for me and I’m 22.

I drop off the glass and before I can get my pad out to take their order, the child interjects a little more entitlement into the situation:

Him: “Was that so hard?”
Me: “Excuse me? Listen, if I can just say something here…”
The kid’s father: “I think you’ve said enough.”

I am stunned. I am boiling hot mad and there’s not a thing I can do about it. I can’t get mad or I run the risk of being fired. And I can’t let it go because, well, I’m far too prideful a person.

Me: “Sir, can I just take you all’s orders?”
The kid’s mother: “We should have stayed in New York. This trip to Florida is just daunting.”
The kid’s father: “You’re probably right.”
Me: “You guys look like you all need some more time. Let me give you all just one more minute or two.”

So I give them two minutes. I use the time to go to the bathroom, splash some cold water on my face and regain my composure. It’s going to take every bit of strength I have to look as though I’m even remotely enjoying serving these people.

I walk back up to the table. With eyes rolled, they give me their orders and then proceed to complain that their sushi is too dry and that their filet mignon is too wet. (Who ever heard of a “wet” steak? In all my years as a waiter, I have NEVER heard of a “wet” steak.)

As they pay their check and exit the restaurant, I can’t help but think that these parents are really doing their child a disservice. They’re teaching him that it’s okay to be rude. You’re the customer, you have the money, you can complain to management if you want. You hold all the cards. You hold this waiter’s job and livelihood in your hand.

Those parents are telling their child that you can come into a restaurant and think you are entitled to treat a server like garbage because THEY’RE the service. YOU’RE the ones with the money and you can dangle it in front of them for the duration of your time in the restaurant. You should think you’re doing lucky them a favor by being the ones they service.

Unlucky for them, I had already made about a hundred bucks on the night and didn’t need their “favor”.

Suffice to say, that kid was thirsty as hell when he left our restaurant.