The Restaurant Gave Me A Check For “Bad Parenting,” And I Responded In The Most Brutal Way

The last thing I anticipated was getting hit with a fee for just being a mother when I treated my son and myself to dinner at a luxury restaurant. Thus, I responded in kind, as any enraged parent would have done.

Although I’m not usually one to voice complaints, what transpired at this “upscale” restaurant yesterday? That was extremely offensive. Imagine that I am a single mother who works hard, just like all other single mothers. incredibly difficult. I therefore felt that I deserved it when I made the decision to treat my 5-year-old son Tommy and myself to a wonderful dinner out.

I was unaware that this restaurant had an unspoken rule that allegedly penalized mothers for being mothers. And so we entered this opulent building. That’s right, the hostess gave me the “Oh great, a mom with a kid” look right away. I dismissed it. Not on this occasion.

“Hi, table for two?” I inquired in a courteous manner.

She answered, “Of course,” but her tone could just as easily have been, “Good luck, honey.”

Whatever. Tommy was bouncing in his seat as soon as we sat down, his eyes widening at the chandeliers as though we were in some sort of wonderful country. I understand, it’s all new and fascinating when you’re five. We placed a request.

I bought him fries and chicken nuggets, something secure. He occupied himself by attempting to color in the child’s menu with those awful, hardly functional restaurant crayons. He started coloring one and hurled it across the table.

“Tommy,” I muttered, attempting to ensnare him.

With a smile that made it difficult to remain angry, he apologized to his mother.

After that, some fries. Well, things are getting a little crazy, but nothing out of the ordinary. It wasn’t even very crowded there. I remained composed, hoping nobody was observing too closely. However, Tommy rose to his feet, his eyes shining as though he had a brilliant scheme.

I cautioned them to “stay in your seat,” but five-year-olds, of course, don’t heed advice.

His sneakers tapping on the tile, he began to round the table. A few servers cast sidelong glances, displeased. The hostess? Yes, she was observing.

I pushed, “Sit down, bud,” but he scooted out from under me before I could catch him. The floor sent him sprawling, as slick as ice.

“You okay, baby?” I asked, but he wasn’t.

“Yes,” he said as he got to his feet.

Naturally, I was worried, but the floor’s level of danger infuriated me. I have nothing to do with their inability to keep their eatery kid-safe!

Tommy calmed down, and we finished our dinner, at which point I thoughtlessly paid the money. To be honest, I just wanted to get home, put some cartoons on for him, and collapse on the couch because I was too exhausted to think about anything else.

Later that evening, I noticed something when I was reading over my receipts and trying to figure out how I had managed to spend so much on such a basic dinner. Under the headings “Administrative Fee” and “Waiter Tip,” there was a paragraph that gave me chills: “Parenting Fee.”

I blinked and stared at it as if if I looked at it long enough, it would magically vanish. An expense? For what precise purpose? for taking my kid inside their priceless eatery? For not making him remain still like a robot?

“You have to be joking with me,” I whispered to myself.

Tommy looked up from where he was playing on the floor. “What, Mama?”

“Nothing, baby,” I answered, attempting to seem nonchalant. But I was furious within. They didn’t like the way I raised my own child, so they charged me! The daring. At that moment, I knew I couldn’t ignore this.

I was still fuming the following morning when it dawned on me. I’ll give them something to consider if I’m going to get fined for being a parent. I took out my laptop and went to work creating a lovely, kid-friendly sign that resembled one of their advertisements.

“This Café Is Open To All Children! Get 20% Off Your Bill for Families with Three or More Children!” I also included a cute little clip art of happy children carrying balloons. You would never be aware that this wasn’t a formal promotion.

Tommy and I headed back to the restaurant after I printed and laminated it. The place was crowded with families and people enjoying breakfast. Perfect.

Tommy pulled on my cuff. “Why are we here again, Mama?”

“We’re just fixing something, sweetheart.”

Acting nonchalant, I strolled straight up to their front window and placed my placard next to their actual posters. It was so inconspicuous that you would have thought it belonged there. I smiled to myself and took a step back.

Things quickly became out of control.

With children in tow, families began to stream in, excited about the “20% off family discount.” With Tommy by my side, I had an iced coffee while observing the mayhem as though it were a professional performance.

A single mother carrying a stroller, three children, and a weary expression pushed open the door. “We would like to take advantage of the family discount,” she added to the already stressed-out hostess.

“Uh… w-what?” The manager had just hurried out the back, and the hostess gave him an anxious glare. “There’s no discount for families.”

The mother appeared offended. “Pardon me? Right there in your window is a sign that indicates there is.”

As he glanced at the sign and then back at the growing group of families reading it, chattering among themselves and anticipating a deal, the manager’s face became a gorgeous shade of crimson.

“I… It’s not genuine, and I’m not sure how that got there. I apologize,” the manager stumbled.

Another parent interrupted, “But it’s in your window!” from behind. “You can’t simply hang a sign and ignore it! That is deceptive advertising.”

The objections were growing louder, and the queue was growing longer. “So what, are you canceling the promotion now?” exclaimed a father who was clutching a newborn in one arm and a toddler in the other. This is absurd! That is the only reason we came here.

The manager attempted to reassure everyone by waving his arms. “A promotion is not forthcoming! I promise! This is an error.”

The waiters behind him were rushing to catch up. There were children playing, crayons all over the tables, and fries flying everywhere. Really, it was breathtaking—exactly what that location deserved.

Another father moved forward and crossed his arms. “You’re telling me that the discount won’t be honored? Man, it is awful business. Families are in this room, waiting for a deal!”

The manager appeared as though he was going to blow up. “Look, I don’t know who put that sign up, but we…”

“Then who did?” a mother shouted back at him. “Because you’re making yourselves look terrible right now.”

I was laughing so hard that I had to stay in my seat. Tommy saw, grinned, not quite understanding why I was laughing so much. “Is this part of the plan, Mama?”

I gave him a wink. “Yeah, my dear. This is the enjoyable portion.”

Hours went by, and family continued arriving. By midafternoon, the restaurant was crowded, with parents clamoring for the discount and children making noise all around. The manager was nearly losing his hair, and the waitstaff was unable to keep up.

The finest aspect? Everyone was talking about this “family-friendly spot” that obviously couldn’t stand kids as word got around like wildfire.

By late afternoon, the manager had rushed outside and marched straight to the window, tearing down my sign. However, it was already too late. The harm had already occurred.

For weeks, parents would come and ask about the family discount. People were perplexed and furious by the purported promotion, and Yelp reviews were replete with complaints. A joke developed around the eatery, which was dubbed the “family-friendly place that didn’t want kids.”

When I returned to the restaurant a few weeks later, it was a deserted town. The tables that had been occupied by families were now empty, and the once proud “Upscale Dining” sign had been swapped out for a desperate-looking “Family Specials: Kids Eat Free!” banner.

As I passed, I couldn’t help but smile. At last, they had realized their mistake: never tamper with parents, especially single mothers. Tommy grasped my hand and peered up at the desert eatery. “Mama, are we ever going to eat there again?”

I chuckled quietly and shook my head. “No, sweetheart. We’re not welcome there yet.”

Tommy turned to face me, his eyes wide, then back to the empty tables. “Why not, Mama?”

With a grin tugging at my lips, I leaned down to meet his level and squeezed his hand. “Because, sweetheart, some places just don’t know how to handle a little bit of fun.”

Tommy gripped my hand firmly. “What’s next, Mama?”

I grinned. “Kiddo, anything you want. Anything we desire.”