While in college I waited tables in several resturants. One Fathers' Day I waited on a party of 6 or so, with a 3-4 year-old boy sitting in a highchair at the end of the booth (God forbid you sit at a table when a booth is open, but don't get me started on that particular nonsense!). This kid was too big for the highchair, and was fidgeting. As I delivered the drink order- I still remember it almost 15 years later: a couple of Heinekins, a bloody mary, shirley temple- this little darling grabbed the edge of the tray, causing the drinks to tip and spill all over him. I was able to keep the glasses and bottles from falling on his head, but he was drenched. Naturally, he started to cry, and the little cherub's mother asked me why I had attacked her son.
How could I respond to that?
Another server took over the table, management comped the meal for the party, and the kid's dad took him out to the car to change.
The server who finished the group told me the kid had wanted a grilled cheese or some other age-appropriate fare, but
Nowadays, of course, these same folks and their ilk call and ask why I gave their child a failing grade, when all they did was earn a 22% for the quarter, or could I please accept the kid's work late because he had baseball practice and couldn't get to it.
Oh, well. The ability with which stupid people breed keeps me employed.