Intuition told me things did not bode well, as the trio was in such haste to toss down beer and slurp sea boogers, they actually forgot to order the boy a beverage. Fortunately for us both, I did not forget, and upon inquiring what I should bring him to drink, I was asked if I could provide a 'coloring book and crayons'.
When I returned with a drink-laden tray, and the requested art supplies, one of the two ladies exclaimed, "Oh, do you think you could bring us crayons and coloring sheets, too?"
Are you fucking kidding me?
"Sure," I responded.
The little boy, in what I could only perceive to be maturity and a profound wisdom, said to the ladies, "How about I share my crayons and paper with you?"
His statement was virtually ignored, the only acknowledgement a flurry of giggles.
"Yeah, and the oysters," chimed the man, his tone insinuating that I had forgotten.
"They're being shucked by the bartender as we speak, and I'll have them for you as soon as they are ready."
Buzzed and/or satiated, the group mellowed as the meal progressed. That is, until the baby woke. He began to wail unhappily, and in a move born of a mother's instinct, I reached upward to switch off the lights above his head.
"Let's get that light out of your eyes," I murmured softly, turning to my only other table, which happened to be directly across from the party of five. Ironically, they complemented me for such 'quick thinking'.
The baby continued to cough and cry until the father raised him to his lap.
"Oh."
And it was by virtue of his tone alone that I knew what was to come.
"Oh, no!"
Most assuredly my thoughts, yet someone else's statement. Meanwhile--
"I don't have the changing pad...it's not in the diaper bag...no, we switched them--don't you remember?..."
When the harried father returned to the table, bearing diapers and a clean change of clothes, the mother proceeded to change the baby's diaper...right at the table!
Tired, disgusted, annoyed (and fearful of betraying myself), I made a beeline for the front entrance, to suck hungrily on a nicotine stick.
Commiserating with another server, I asked, "If I sat on your plate, would you eat off of it?"
When I came to clear away our finest disposable china, Mommy Dearest moved to press the diaper and its contents on top of the stack within my hands.
It wasn't wrapped. The only thing between me and the motherlode of baby loads was a layer of soggy synthetic cotton. I struggled to maintain my demeanor. It took everything within me not to cock an eyebrow or curl my lip in uncontrollable disdain.
Pasting on my most polite smile: "I see you have a bit of gator tail left. Would you like a box?"
