"Its 4:30 and I get sat my first customers of the day – a young couple with a screaming, kicking, red faced, snot dripping three year old boy. I take a deep calming breath, flick on my waiter smile, and head over to the table. The parents, embarrassed by their offspring’s behavior, watch my approach with a mixture of apology and fear. The little boy, as all children do, is screaming about getting something he wants when he wants it. As the child’s delivering his full throated spittle laden ultimatum, a little bubble of mucous elongates out of his nose and pops. The resultant effluence drips down his chin.
Arriving at the table I don’t say anything to the parents - I focus all my towering attention on the little boy. As I stare into his big watery eyes he instantly falls silent. The parents are amazed.
“Who is this man?” I ask the little boy, pointing to the bearded caricature painted on my tacky Christmas tie.
“Santa,” the child blurts.
“And what does Santa do?”
“Brings toys.”
“That’s right,” I say, winking at the mother, who at this point, wants to leave her husband and shack up with me. “You know that Santa only brings toys to good children don’t you? Have you been a good boy this year?”
“Yes.”
“You’ve been a good boy? No crying and yelling?”
“Yes,” the child lies, wiping his nose with a crusty shirtsleeve.
“So you’re going to be nice and quiet while I talk to your Mommy and Daddy?”
“Yes.”
“Do you like chocolate milk?”
“Yes.”
“If you’re good and Mommy says it’s okay I’ll bring you some. Would you like that?”
“Yes.”
I look at the mother. Hopefully this kid’s not Jewish and lactose intolerant.
“That would be great,” the mother says, hero worship shining in her blue eyes.
“Okay then,” I say. “When I finish talking to Mommy and Daddy I’ll bring you some chocolate milk.”
“Okay,” the boy says.
“Carson,” the mother coos, “What do you say to the nice man?”
“Thank you,” the boy says automatically.
“You’re welcome, sir,” I reply."
Here's the rest of the story.
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