apollard
Active Member
This is just funny as shart (for those of us who have/had young children):
http://hiddenleaves.wordpress.com/2011/ ... the-house/
Congratulations on your decision to pack up the brood and leave the house. Though you will soon regret this decision, the fetid stink of old mac n' cheese, hidden under the dining room table and sundry other places in your general kitchen/living room area, and the general dirty sock smell of areas where children spend time currently outweighs any reservations you have about dining out with small children. One warning: If your reservations include reservations about dining at an establishment that requires reservations, then your reservations are well founded. Attempting to take the munchkins to such an establishment will result in your steak spending time in a microwave as the kitchen and wait staff attempt to expedite your exit from said establishment.
Before piling into the minivan for the evening's adventure, make sure you are armed with the following supplies: diapers, wipes, bibs, sippy cups, pacifiers, changes of clothes for the entire family, duct tape, bailing wire, a carpet shampooer, and a pistol or other easily wielded firearm.
Now that you've assembled your kit, you're ready to hit the road. Obviously, unless you are ignoring the warning about places requiring reservations, you will be heading to a place that has two menus - one mediocre jack of all trades/master of none menu for you and your spouse and one disposable kiddie menu replete with crayons and non-mediocre offerings such as all-beef hot dogs. Once you arrive at this place and are taken to your table, immediately set about to dumping the entire basket of bread, one glass of water, three forks, and one spoon on the floor. If your chosen restaurant does not supply bread, fruit snacks or Cheerios will suffice. It is important that you, the customer, in your infinite rightness establish proper expectations of your wait staff from the onset. Next, let your little angels have complete freedom in ordering beverages. Milk, soda, three fingers of tequila, it's their choice. You're out on the town and the sky's the limit. Encourage them to take as long as possible with this decision. This same standard extends to the ordering of the entrees, though you should kick it up a few notches at this point. If your child wants an endangered dolphin stuffed with hot dogs and braised with chocolate sauce, the server and kitchen will be expected to honor this request lest the tip move down from the 5% range into the 0-1% range. Don't forget your rights, though. A successfully stuffed dolphin is only worth 5% if delivered with a full-blown shiteating grin.
At this point in your meal you may notice other diners subtly displaying displeasure with having been seated next to the cyclone of yelling and food into which your table has devolved. Simply reach into your kit and remove the bailing wire. Use it to fasten all the surrounding patrons to their seats, taking special care to leave their arms free or at least free enough to reach their plates. Should they voice any opposition to these tactics, you will need to resort to the duct tape. Though it is difficult to seal their mouths in such a fashion as they are still able to eat, it can be done. One strategy is to cut small holes in the tape such that morsels of food can be shoved through without leaving their mouths with enough freedom to actually articulate anything other than muffled pleas of, "What the hell are you doing?" If it becomes necessary, your spouse or older child can train the firearm on the guests so they remain still during the application.
Now it's time to eat. Invariably, once the food arrives, one child will realize she is no longer hungry, not even for the stuffed dolphin braised in u-bet. The other, if old enough, will realize she needs to go potty. If younger, she will drop a massive load in her diaper. It will smell vaguely as though she spent the past few weeks subsisting on cheap whiskey, roadkill, and Taco Bell. But I repeat myself. As the father, assuming you still have testicles safely housed in your drawers, you can ignore all this and eat your meal. Dealing with the finicky eater and the stink bomb is Mom's job. If you find the kids too distracted to continue strewing food on the floor, feel free to dump some of your own. Strong families, after all, pick up the slack for individual members when the situation warrants.
Once the check arrives, smile at the server and say, "I guess my kids aren't quite ready for restaurants. I am raising them in a barn. As to this carpet shampooer you see next to me, I shan't be using it. I just wanted to mess with your mind." If the server does not laugh boisterously at this cleverly staged prank, feel free to take the tip down to 3%.
All that is left at this point is to pay the bill, leave your 2%, gather up the family, and leave, safe in the knowledge that restaurant employees have less short-term memory than that guy in Memento and will in no way punish you should you attempt to again eat at the same establishment. Solid tippers with good manners and well-behaved chilluns never get excellent service or free desserts. Anyone who claims otherwise is a damn liar. Besides, if those cretins wanted to make more money they should get a better job or demand that the restaurant pay them more. No way the restaurant would just pass higher wages onto the customer. As Barrack Obama can clearly explain, economic decisions just don't work that way.
