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They’d Like To Look At The Kid(nap) Menu

, , , , | Working | July 29, 2013

(I’m about three years old. My mom’s family is Middle Eastern, and they look it. My dad is white, and I take after him, although he’s not with us at the time. I have pale skin and red hair. My extended family and I are out for lunch. A waitress has just taken our orders.)

Waitress: “Y’all are a pretty big group. What brought you all together?”

Aunt: “We go to church as a family every Sunday.”

Waitress: “Well, isn’t that nice.”

(I’m playing with my brother.)

Waitress: *to me* “Do you like going out with your friend’s family?”

Me: “What?”

Mom: “Actually, that’s my daughter.”

Waitress: “Oh! You’re adopted! I’m sorry, honey, I didn’t mean to make you feel different.”

Me: “I’m not adopted.”

Waitress: “Oh, I’m so sorry; you haven’t told her yet.”

Mom: “She’s not adopted.”

Waitress: “Of course she is! People like you can’t have a white baby!”

Mom: “It’s none of your business, but yes, she’s my daughter.”

Waitress: “It’s impossible for brown people to have white babies! You’re kidnapping her! You’re kidnapping a good, God-fearing white baby, and turning her Muslim! You’re lying about church; you took her to your mosque for a satanic ritual! You [racist slur]!”

(The waitress picks me up.)

Waitress: “I’ll protect you!”

(I scream and bite the waitress. The waitress reacts by slapping me.)

Mom: “You put down my daughter right now!”

(At this point, my whole family is standing, yelling at the waitress. The manager comes over.)

Manager: “What the h*** is going on here!?”

Mom: “She’s kidnapping my daughter!”

Waitress: “These [racist slur] are kidnapping a white baby!”

(I continue screaming as my mom pulls me away from the waitress.)

Manager: “I’m calling the police!”

(We try to leave at that point, but the manager has barred the doors.)

Uncle: “What the h*** is the matter with you? She’s her daughter!”

Mom: “I’m calling [Dad].”

(We wait for the police for fifteen minutes, while my mom talks to my dad on the phone. My lawyer aunt tries to reason with the manager, and my older cousins try to distract the little ones. Finally, the police arrive. They tell us to wait where we are, and question the manager and the waitress first. Then they come over.)

Officer: “I’m very sorry you were bothered by this. This is one of the most bogus, racist claims I’ve heard. But because the complaint was filed, I have to follow procedure. Sweetie, what’s your mother’s full name?”

Me: “It is [Full Name].”

Officer: “Ma’am, do you have any ID to prove this?”

(My mom shows her driver’s license. Next, the officer questions me about each family member. Afterwards…)

Officer: “Yeah, no three-year-old would know this much about someone else’s family, and we don’t have any Amber Alerts out matching her description, so you all are free to—”

(The officer’s partner comes over and whispers something to him.)

Officer: “Ah, I see. My partner was reviewing the security footage. The waitress slapped your daughter. You can press charges, if you’d like.”

Mom: “I would, very much.”

(As the waitress is handcuffed, my dad comes into the restaurant.)

Dad: “What the h*** happened?”

Me: “Daddy!”

(I runs up to him, and jump in his arms.)

Waitress: “You didn’t f****** tell me her dad was white!”

(Needless to say, we never went there again.)

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