It’s Gonna Be A Long Year

I’m working as a waitress on New Year’s Day. One of our tables at the very back of the restaurant is a long booth that’s tucked away in a bit of an alcove. Three sides have full walls around it and the only open side has a narrow walkway between it and a row of tables. Because of how long the table in the booth is and how narrow the space is between the tables, if we need to pull the table out for any reason, we need to move pretty much all of the tables in the entire section.

Our restaurant does not usually get too busy, but today, we have a line-up out the door, so all our tables are full. Earlier in the day, a family was seated in the back booth and made a mess, spilled pop, shattered three different glasses, and got syrup everywhere. Because we can’t move the table out to make sure we get all the glass, my manager tells us to clean up as much as we can and not to seat anyone there.

We get a particularly large group of about fifteen people — mostly adults but one child about four or five years old. They request that the child gets their meal first, so I bring it out and everything seems fine. By the time all the other food is prepped and I bring out the final tray of food, the child has finished (or given up) eating.

As I’m handing out the food, I notice that the child has started to crawl around and play underneath the closed table. I alert the mother.

Me: “Hey, could you please ask your child not to play under there? The table is closed because there may be broken glass under it that we can’t get to.”

Mother: “Oh, mind your own business. My daughter can play where she wants to.”

Despite saying this, she does call her daughter over, so I don’t say anything else and walk away. Later on, I come by to refill drinks and I see that the daughter is back under the table.

Me: “It’s really not safe for your child to be under there. Please tell her not to play there.”

Mother: “Well, what else is she supposed to do? The adults are talking here.”

Me: “I can bring some more coloring sheets and crayons for her if she’d like, but she can’t play under the tables.”

Mother: “She doesn’t want to color.”

Once again, the mother calls the daughter back to their table and I continue to serve other customers. Over the next two hours, I have to tell the mother multiple times not to let her child play under the table. Finally, right near the end of my shift, just as it’s starting to get less busy, I am walking by the table when the mother turns to me.

Mother: “YOU!”

I stop, fairly startled. I walk over to them and see the child crying.

Mother: “How dare you?! There’s glass under that table! My daughter was playing under there and now look!”

The mother shoves her daughter’s hand toward me, and on the pad of her thumb is a tiny cut maybe 0.5cm (less than 0.2 inches) long.

Me: “Ma’am, I told you not to let her play there as it’s dangerous. If you’d like, I can get her a band-aid.”

Mother: “Of course, she needs a band-aid! This is ridiculous! If you knew it was dangerous and you knew there was glass, then you need to clean it up! That’s your job!”

Me: “I understand that you’re upset; however, we cleaned up what we could get to and closed off the table. We advised you that there was a chance there was glass under the table and asked you not to let her play there. Give me a moment and I’ll grab her a band-aid.”

I go to our office to grab the band-aid, and by the time I get back to the table, the child is no longer with her mother; she is back to crawling under the closed table.

Me: “I have the band-aid. Please get your daughter to stop playing under there; she’s already been cut once and we don’t want her to get hurt again.”

Mother: “It’s your job to clean up the glass and make sure she doesn’t get hurt again. Just do your job!”

The mother then calls her daughter over and puts the band-aid on her. I tell my manager what is going on. They don’t seem concerned and just tell me I’ll have to fill out an incident report.

As I walk back out, I go by the table and the mother starts waving me over, looking furious.

Me: “Did she get cut again?”

Mother: “Yes, and look, you’ve destroyed her tights!”

The daughter is wearing white tights that are now dirty from crawling on the ground and have a small rip in them on the knee. I look but I don’t see any cuts on the girl.

Me: “I don’t see the cut. Does she need another band-aid?”

Mother: “She cut her tights. Clearly, there’s still glass under there! I want your manager, now!“

At this point, there has been no time between when I went to get the daughter a band-aid and when the daughter went under the table again, and there’s no way to get under the table to get all the glass slivers without moving the table, which is not possible because the family is still sitting at the tables across, blocking it in.

I go to get my manager and he tells me to grab a bucket and cloth and basically make a show of wiping down the table and seats while he speaks to the parent at the front of the restaurant. He also says I can pull out the table once the family has left.

At this point, most of the family leaves and it’s just an older lady and the child left at the table while the manager speaks to the mother. Eventually, the mother comes back, still grumbling about it. She sees me still wiping down the tables.

Mother: “See, this is what you should have been doing all along. You know what? I’m going to sue you! I’ll sue you for assaulting my child by leaving glass where she could get it!”

By this time, I’m done with this woman. I just decide it isn’t worth engaging and flat-out ignore her. She tries saying it a few more times, but when I keep ignoring her and cleaning, she eventually turns back to her daughter and the older woman and they start packing up to go.

Older Lady: “What are you doing?”

I turn around and see that the mother is opening several packets of jam and honey.

Mother: “Since this b**** doesn’t like cleaning, I figure I’ll give her some more to do!”

The mother then sticks her fingers in the jam and starts smearing it on the table and chairs.

Older Lady: “Stop that! You’re acting like a child! Let’s just go.”

Mother: “I don’t care! She assaulted my child and I’ll sue her!”

The older lady kept trying to calm her down and get her to stop and, shortly after, convinced her to grab her stuff and go. After, as I was cleaning everything, my manager came over and let me know he had given her 10% off her entire table’s bill, and after accepting it and paying for the meal, the mother had told him it still wasn’t enough and that since I had upset her daughter, we needed to “make it up to her.” The restaurant sells various stuffed animals at the front, so my manager also ended up giving her daughter a free stuffed animal.