Saturday, July 7, 2012

Another painfully familiar scene, courtesy of Chase Sapphire

Remember when you bumped into these people at your favorite low-cost hamburger joint?

You were just settling into your booth with your significant other for a burger and french fries and a little lighthearted talk.   You got your menus, you ordered your drinks, you started skimming the entrees.  No fuss, no muss, no problem.

Then they came in.  Two little kids and their dad (or at least, it SEEMED that their dad was there- kind of hard to tell, when you consider the behavior that followed.)  Naturally, they were put into the booth right behind you.  Maybe you didn't know it at that moment, but your plans for a quiet lunch were over the second they sat down.

Because for the next forty minutes, the kids would not stay in their seats for more than five seconds at a time.  Because they continuously leaned into your space, stared at you, and asked you to say "hi" to them.  (Being a civilized human being, you didn't say what you wanted to say, but instead replied "hi" to this total stranger you had no interest in talking to.  What you wanted to say was "get the fuck out of my face, where the hell is your father?")  Because they would not stop kicking the back of your seat.

And then the food came.  They threw french fries at each other, blew into their straws and splashed milkshake all over their table, fought over the ketchup and used every napkin at their table to make hats, parachutes- everything but for wiping their greasy faces.   You couldn't get your iced tea refilled, because your waitress was at their table pretty much every minute, waiting for them to decide what kind of ice cream they wanted, then replacing each kid's dessert twice because A) it wasn't Exactly What They Wanted, and B) It Spilled, Sorry.  

And all the time, "Dad" just sat there with a dumb look on his face, like he was so pleased that his asshole kids were bothering other people and not just him for a change- or more, likely, he was completely oblivious to the concept that maybe there were people in the restaurant other than himself and his worthless spawn.   I've had plenty of experience with "parents" who just assume that everyone finds their kids as delightful as they do- or think that if they have to put up with the little nasties 24/7, that's pain that should be shared on occasion, and if we are annoyed, we should seriously just fuck off.

Anyway,  Dickweed Dad, finally realizing that he had milked the whole Share My Family With The World thing for as long as he could, whipped out his Chase Sapphire card and handed it to the ever-present, and by now completely exhausted, waitress.  When he walked out of the place with his idiot kids, he left behind plenty of evidence that they had enjoyed themselves immensely- a mountain of napkins under the table, several puddles of milkshake on it, about a hundred globs of ketchup everywhere....

Oh, and a five percent tip.  These people are NEVER generous with their tipping- my guess is that they think the Joy Their Kids Bring is more than enough.  All of this putting the waitress in just the right mood to give you and your date a little attention, now that you are about ready to leave. 

Hey, Dad?  Maybe next time, you could just order a fricking pizza?  I know that means we are deprived of your wonderful boys, and you'll have to clean up your own god damned mess, but we'd like to have a nice dinner out sometime too, you know.

Oh, what am I thinking?  People like you don't give a flying crap about anything but your own convenience.  Sorry if I confused you.


  1. About the only pleasure that I can derive from watching this commercial is the realization that Notactuallyadad has just taken out what amounts to a bank loan to pay for fast food. Oh, wait. That's just another symptom of his being a total freaking idiot. Now I'm depressed again.

  2. It would work if they combined this ad with the one for Lifelock, where the waitress holds the guy's credit card up IN FRONT OF EVERYBODY and copies his number, leading to the destruction of his credit, possibly the loss of his job, and an end to his visitation rights. No more Every Other Saturday at Johnny Rockets for you, Thoughtless Idiot Dad!