I am afraid that during the holiday season, this blog is going to become a laundry list of "Tales from the Table" where i recount the horrific things that I have witnessed in the restaurant that day.
Blog Fodder indeed.
In our latest edition, I was rushing around - as I have been known to do - when out of the corner of my eye I saw something. Now, I wasn't exactly sure if I was seeing what I thought I was seeing. I hoped that my eyes were failing, or that I was just imagining the whole damn thing.
But I wasn't.
There, on table 8, in the MIDDLE OF THE RESTAURANT during BRUNCH, a baby was having it's diaper changed. It's poopy diaper. The baby was lying there, all spread-eagled on the table top - DIRECTLY ON THE TABLE TOP - getting shit wiped off it's ass.
Yes. Yes she was.
I almost died. But I was not nearly as upset as the people EATING at the next table.
We all just stood there, not really knowing what to do. I mean, it was already almost a done deal. It had already happened. The shit had already hit the fan, so to speak.
I looked around frantically. The customers were doing the same, there was a lot of eye contact and raised eyebrows.
I made the decision to let these parents finish up their little hazmat project, and then drag the table out back and burn it. Along with the chairs, the salt and pepper shakers, the sugar packets, and the tobasco bottle.
And then, for good measure, I sprayed the entire general area with Lysol for good measure.
And lit a match.
And then we all stood there, like we had witnessed some sort of violent crime. Stunned and sickened.
What the hell is wrong with people?
The only positive thing I can say is, at least they took their shitty diaper with them. If they had left it on the table, I would have thrown it at the back of their heads as they walked down the street.
1 hour ago