Last night at work, there was this little douchebag kid who looked like he’d been homeschooled by an equally douche-y mom. (Not to say homeschooled kids are bad as I have a really good friend who was homeschooled from kindergarten to 5th or 6th grade and he’s cool as hell).
Anyway, this kid had little to no social skills and went absolutely crazy when he downed his first soda. Does anyone remember in “The Simpsons” when Bart gives Flanders’ kids some pixie sticks and they taste sugar for the first time? That’s what this kid was like. Except it wasn’t a cartoon and I couldn’t punch this mom in the face like Homer does to Flanders. Fucking cartoons.
A little explanation: At our restaurant, the chefs come out to the tables and grill right in front of you. We only had two chefs last night to cook for the tables and there were three servers, each with one table. You do the frickin’ math. And guess who was odd man out? Yea. So they’re waiting, and I’m apologizing to everyone at the table about the wait and explaining the situation when this kid, out of nowhere, looks me square in the eye and asks:
Him: “Yes, waiter. When exactly will our chef be coming out?”
Me: “Oh, well…I’m sorry, but like I said…there’s only two chefs and as you can see, there’s three…”
Him: “I didn’t ask for excuses.”
Me: “Excuse me?”
Him: “Are we going to have to cook this meal ourselves?”
I look at the mom, but she has a look on her face like she agrees with this little punk. Well screw her too. This kid couldn’t have been older than eight years old. I’m not gonna take crap from someone a decade and a half younger than me.
Her: “When is our chef coming out?”
Talking back is a frickin’ learned behavior and it seems this kid had his fill of homework from his overly-bitchy mother.
After the chef came out and the kid had eaten his fill, he asked for another soda. The mom didn’t want him having sugar or caffeine, so she asked he have a Diet Coke. After emptying about six packets of sugar into that kid’s cup, I gladly obliged.