I’m happy, easygoing, and optimistic, but like most people, certain things get under my skin—not always, just sometimes. With that in mind, a multi-part Rant Series begins, designed to get a few things off my chest every Tuesday, with maybe some attempt at humor thrown in. Without further delay …
You’re out for dinner with a friend because you’ve both earned this. A hot meal you didn’t have to cook, a drink in hand, and maybe a little peace and quiet. Then you hear it. A scream. A high-pitched, glass-rattling, ear-piercing screech that echoes off the overhead lamps, the walls, and deep into your bones. You may even jump from your seat. There it is: The Screeching Restaurant Kid. He’s got a straw and a full-size drink cup, and he’s going to slurp every last molecule, even when it’s empty, especially when it’s empty, because the straw slurp is just the soundtrack to his chaos.
The screeching isn’t cute; it’s annoying to everyone else. It’s not a giggle and it’s not a laugh. It’s a noise that cuts through conversation like a foghorn in a broom closet. And every time the kid does it, the parents nod and say, “Oh, he’s just full of energy today!” No. He’s full of Coca-Cola and pure sonic destruction that shattered a window two blocks away. The slurping? That will never end. There’s nothing left in the cup. You know it. I know it. The parents and the server know it. But that straw keeps going — echoing like a clogged drain in a horror movie. It’s like they gave him a megaphone and said, “Here, play with this at full volume to irritate as many as possible in the restaurant.”
The table looks like an F5 tornado went through it. There are lime wedges on the floor, grease-laden finger smudges on the window, a half-eaten meatball on the seat, sauce and spaghetti everywhere, eight open but not used sugar packets on the table, and crayons in the water pitcher. This isn’t dinner, but it is a parenting philosophy test, and right now, the philosophy is “Let lawlessness reign and the hell with the fellow diners.” The kids are under the table one minute, climbing the booth and staring into the neighboring booth’s diners the next, and then back on the sticky floor they go.
Meanwhile, the parents are in their own world and smile sweetly, saying, “They’re just tired.” “They are just expressive,” or “This is how kids learn boundaries.” Is it? Or are you just letting them train for a demolition derby in a place where people are trying to eat and servers are trying to serve without being tackled? We’re not saying leave. We’re saying Parent. Nobody expects perfect behavior because kids are kids, and some noise and mess is expected. However, there’s a difference between a child acting up and a parent checking out. Set a limit or offer a distraction. Take a walk outside with them. Don’t just sip your drink while the dining room becomes an amusement park.
Restaurants aren’t daycares with menus; they are places where people celebrate an anniversary, a birthday, a job promotion, decompress after a hectic day, or commiserate. Your child or children may be the center of your world, but when they are screaming, and we mean screaming mid-meal, they’ve become the center of everyone’s attention and not in a good way.
So next time you’re out, and your kid starts to reenact The Battle of Endor from the Star Wars franchise in the middle of the main course, ask yourself: Is this cute or chaos that is grating on everyone in the place? If they’re slurping into a straw that’s been dry since the appetizer and yelling loud enough to shift glassware … we already know the answer.
John Berkovich Talks 