Who’s The Real Baby Here?

I work at a local sub shop in my town. We have single-stall bathrooms — the kind where you walk in and the toilet and sink are next to each other and you have to lock the door behind yourself. We have baby changing tables in both the women’s and men’s bathrooms because single fathers exist.

A customer orders his sandwich and heads into the bathroom. A moment later, he storms out of the bathroom and snaps his fingers at me.

Customer: “Hey, kid!”

Me: “Yes, sir?”

Customer: “Why is there one of them women’s things in the men’s bathroom?”

I have no clue what he’s talking about.

Me: “Pardon me?”

Customer: “One of them girly tables for the babies — you have one in the man bathroom!”

Me: “Oh, the changing table? Yes, sir, we have one in both bathrooms.”

He huffs and puts his hands on his hips in an exaggerated fashion.

Customer: “Well, why is that?”

Me: “So that men can change their babies’ diapers if they need to.”

Customer: “That’s the wife’s job. Why are you promoting men to be like women?!”

Me: “Sometimes single fathers come in, or it’ll just be a dad and his kids. It’s just there for convenience.”

Customer: “It makes me feel like a woman. I don’t need it in the men’s bathroom.”

Me: “Oh, okay.”

Honestly, I am past the point of caring and am just trying to appease him so he’ll leave me alone.

Customer: “Well, I don’t need to use it!”

Me: “Sir, you’re not obligated to use the baby changing table.”

He just stares at me with his mouth hanging open before shaking his head, sighing, and saying to himself:

Customer: “I can’t believe these d*** kids.”