Children or non-children, please

By Andrew Corcostegui
The Collegian

IN KEEPING WITH the tradition of the last column published, I have another complaint.

Maybe because I’ve already established that I am the whiniest of the opinion columnists, I have little concern for how this new criticism will be perceived.

I was out to lunch recently at Fresno’s dearly beloved Cheesecake Factory.

I was on a temporary high after discovering that an eatery in Fresno still employs cloth napkins, so you can imagine my disappointment following the subsequent events.

As if the seating wasn’t already especially close-quartered, imagine my chagrin when I was seated next to a baby.

Maybe that isn’t very fair. I called anything younger than 10 a baby. It was more of an infant. A particularly loud one, at that.

As an only child, and youngest in my family, my involvement with infants and small mammals in general has been kept to a minimum. Mostly though, they just creep me out.

But there it was. Drooling on itself.

I rolled my eyes, looked at the members of my lunch party and boldly declared I would not miss my next deadline because I had just discovered a new article topic.

Mid-epiphany, a piece of flatware flew in my general direction.

I had been caught in infant crossfire, armed only with my delicious egg roll appetizers, none of which I had any intention of wasting on something with no teeth.

Here it is folks: most, not all, children have no business being in certain public places.

Period.

Unless they can present a certificate that proves that they have mastered table manners, or graduated from cotillion, generally, all the child does is disrupt the ambience for everyone else.

I recognize that the Cheesecake Factory is hardly fine dining and I also understand that it is generally too loud in there to hear anyone anyway. But I digress.

I could hear this baby shouting. Strike one.

The parents were not attempting to quell his/her temper. Strike two.

Someone threw a spoon in my direction. Strike three. Baby, you’re out.

Understandably, children have to develop table manners somewhere, but perhaps there are more appropriate restaurants.

Like Burger King.

Our culture OKs the idea that children belong in nearly every public place, which for the citizens of Fresno, includes R-rated movies after hours and in dressing rooms where children like to snoop under the curtains.

Trust me. Been there, experienced that. As an adult who enjoys overpriced entrees, I feel it is my right to go to a restaurant and not have to experience baby ruckus.

I remember a time when people could still smoke in restaurants, and you had your choice of smoking or non-smoking side partisanship.

I say bring that back, but with the variable limited to children or non-children.

The worst though is when it occurs at Disneyland, when a mother of five rams her stroller into your calves.

Listen parents, your kid will have no recollection of this trip if he or she is younger than three.

Go pop in a copy of “The Little Mermaid” in your DVD player, give the kids a box of Raisinettes and save yourself $200 in gas money.

The backs of my legs will thank you immensely. I am thankful for the parents who have taught their small children the art of being polite, of being quiet or being respectful.

I love that some of you kindly remove your child from a place at the table until he or she has settled down.

I can imagine it is difficult to find a reliable baby-sitter. I understand you’re hungry, that you probably want out of the house.

But seriously, get your food to-go. P. F. Chang’s is more than willing to box up your orange chicken.

To be fair, I’ve seen many a Fresnan behave like an ape when out to dine. You know who you are.

It’s embarrassing to watch some of you.

Keep in mind that we childless singletons enjoy good meals and good conversations with friends when out to dine, just as much as parents do.

We respect your decision to populate. Please respect our love of booth seats that do not feature dried baby spittle or background noise exclusive to the cries of a teething toddler.

And if your child must throw silverware, please warn us in advance so we know to bring shields to dinner.

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