Age Discrimination

I know you already know this but there is nothing like taking a baby to dinner at a restaurant. First of all, the host says
"3?' and you say
"2 and a high chair" pause.
"Oh" he says flatly. Then he looks around. Looks at you.
"Oh, you have a stroller" then he sighs. "You have fold it up". So, while we are scrambling to take everything out of the stroller, you look up as he is silently arguing with a waiter who does not want you in his section.
As a former restaurant worker, I know that many waiters hate tables with kids. They hate having to run around heating up bottles, asking the kitchen to steam carrots, listen to crying, and most of the time getting a lousy tip.
It has turned into a stigma.

The bus boys aren't too happy either because the floor always gets littered with rice and torn napkins. As it were, Ms. Foo threw chicken, pizza crust, spoons, and cereal puffs on the floor last night. (I picked them up)

I understand. I do. But there is a secret I know. Pass it on.
If you take really good care of a table with kids. If you make the kids happy, get their food out right away, give them something special,
THEIR PARENTS WILL MOST LIKELY GIVE YOU A BIG FAT TIP.
Ok, sometimes they won't, but more often than not, they will.
All they want to do is have a nice dinner and if you get pouty and roll your eyes every time they make a special request and don't try to make things fun, then they will just be insulted, stressed and eventually angry.

Anyway, I'm probably preaching to the choir here. We usually do ok because Ms. Foo is still little and at the cheek pinching stage. But we still don't get treated so well most of the time. Like we are a whole lot of trouble. There is a lot of sighing and toe tapping and pursed lips.
And we don't even ask for anything special!

I will say one thing. Our waiter at the very busy restaurant last night warned us against giving their bar juices to the baby, smiled, was fast, and never made us feel rushed.
So, that was nice.

It's like airplanes. Some people get to their seat, take one look at you and feel like the universe has cursed them.
One man told me, after making a stinky sock face,
"I hate to tell you this, but I've been sick".
"That's ok" I said, "She doesn't get sick" even though she does, I just knew he was hoping I would move. I started telling him the story about how when she was first born and her dad, my mother and I all got the flu and she did not. He put in his earphones and opened a magazine.

On the flight back the guy looked at us and shook his head. I had to stifle a laugh when Ms. Foo took a big fat stinky poo right next to him.

But then there was the lady who talked to me the whole flight about her kids and breast feeding and how cool it is when they get older and how quiet Ms. Foo was and not to worry if I had to change her or feed her and could she help with anything?

I guess you just have to have kids to understand.