So, while we were in Williamsburg we experienced a very frustrating encounter at a restaurant. Let me say first, the events leading up to this encounter also attributed to the frustration and anger that I felt once it happened. But, all in all I do not think we were treated very well….
The plan on our last day in Williamsburg: Drive around and explore, relax at the hotel, shop, Ripley’s museum, walk about historic downtown, shop, eat a delicious dinner.
What actually happened: Drove around and explored-relaxed at the hotel-shopped-Ripley’s museum-try to find gas-almost run out of gas-screaming, hungry baby-frustrated lost parents-feeding baby in car in parking lot-laughing parents at stupidity of waiting so long to find a gas station-find gas station with one tiny bar left-get to downtown while shops are closing (8pm)-try to decide on where to eat- decide on where to eat and get really pissed at the stupid young hostess girls at restaurant-really have to pee & have to walk back to car-crying mom-finally finding a nice, welcoming restaurant to eat a 9pm dinner.
Yes, what a mess.
When we entered the restaurant with our baby in stroller because of walking around trying to find a place to eat, we were asked how many in our party (2 + baby boy).
Hostess: ”Do you need a highchair?”
Me: “No, he’s too young for that. He can’t hold his head up completely yet.”
Hostess, questioning my response by looking at baby in stroller with rude face.
Hostess: “OK, well, WE DO NOT HAVE ROOM FOR THAT”. (Stroller).
Me: ”Well, we will just set him down in his carrier.”
Hostess: Well, we will have to put that on top of a highchair that has been turned over.”
Me thinking to myself: Hmmm, not sure if THAT’s safe.
Me and Brandon: “Ok, that’s fine.”
Hostess leaves, without response to us?
Same hostess and ANOTHER hostess continue to walk by us and seat other people while we are standing right in front of them waiting.
Me, frustrated and bickering with Brandon because I am mad we spent forever trying to find gas and it’s 8 pm and I really have to pee: “I don’t think that’s safe anyway and they aren’t even saying anything to us. Are they getting our table? Let’s just leave, this is so pathetic.”.
We leave and I start to get so upset that I cry. I am not mad at Brandon, I am so mad at those stupid girls that they didn’t accommodate us at the restaurant or even have the decency to tell us if they were setting up our table or what the heck was going on. The restaurant was a nicer, higher priced place, but had a CHILDREN’s menu, so they definitely need to be welcoming to CHILDREN. And my baby is a CHILDREN. Very. Bad. Manners.
I keep looking down at this cute, little, innocent child that I am pushing around in his stroller and I say to my husband when he asks why I am so upset that I am crying. …“They were mean to my ‘effing’ baby!”. And we just start to laugh, we laugh at the hassle of the whole day and we laugh at what I just said. I feel better, but I am definitely going to say something, to the manager, or whoever. I am not through with this. NOBODY is going to be mean to my effing baby.
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