Gettin' Some Attention

Wise man once say “the people perish for lack of knowledge”. Whaaahh-Sooooo. Here at First Team Cut, we don’t want anyone to go around without knowledge, without insight, without a little extra instruction. No sir, we won’t stand for it. We want you to walk across the rice paper. So in the name of keeping you the restaurant patron well and well informed, we have compiled a short list of instructions that will better serve you when you are trying to get the attention of your waiter or waitress.  Listed below are a couple of suggestions on both what to and what not to do when you need a few extra napkins or a refill. These few short rules of thumb will help you receive a more prompt (and even more pleasant) service and it will also keep you from looking like your Momma didn’t give you any house training. Let’s begin, shall we?

What NOT To Do:

1.)    Whistle At Your Server.

This is a restaurant. It is not Central Park, your server is not a Golden Retriever, and you ma’am are not a dog whisperer. Whistling is great for alerting a passerby to the fact that you find them rather attractive or for calling a traveling violation at a youth basketball game, but it is not for summoning your server. It is far too shrill of a method of communication and you might get smacked by a fellow patron for blowing out their eardrum.

2.)    Snap Your Fingers As Your Server Passes Your Table.

               Granted, we understand that you don’t always know the given name of your server. The server doesn’t know your name either, but you don’t see waiters snapping their fingers in your face to get your attention when you are taking thirty minutes to decide on what you would like as a salad dressing. Finger snaps are wonderful if you are a spoken-word artist at a coffee house poetry slam, but this isn’t that kind of party. So unless you are keeping the beat to the country western music playing in the restaurant dining room, please refrain from snapping your fingers in anyone’s direction.

What TO DO:

1.)    Raise Your Hand.

Some of the greatest life lessons you will ever learn are learned in preschool. How to share and play nice with others, how to color inside the lines, and how to not cry when your mom drops you off are all things you can use into adulthood. Another great tool is the raised hand. Most other people you meet know that a raised hand means “I have a question”. This will work wonders for your server, because little is left to interpretation. Your server now knows you need something. If they ignore the upraised hand, we suggest you speak with a manager and then proceed to ignore the line on your credit card slip that says “Tip Amount” and keep it movin’.

2.)    Put Your Dish(es) On the Edge of The Table.

Let’s say you and three friends are eating out. Your party is sitting at a booth and you are all having a great time. The drinks are flowing, the appetizers are being passed around, and the dishware is starting to pile up. The pile of place ware is becoming a mountain and your Diet Coke is getting a tad low, but your server doesn’t seem to notice. You are too classy to snap your fingers, whistle, or trip the server to get his attention, so what can you do? Here is an idea; pile the plates on top of one another, and move them and your glasses that are in need of refill to the aisle-side edge of your table. The more precariously perched the better. One thing servers hate universally is cleaning up a crash site, and so in the name of self preservation, most servers will hasten to your location in order to get the plate pile out of danger, giving you the chance to request more beverages. You have not sullied your family name by acting like a jackwagon and you have accomplished the goal of keepin’ the good times rolling. Tip of the cap to you sir.

SLAP! Of The Week

Like so many of you out there, we here at First Team Cut took a moment out of our busy schedules to celebrate the day of love most commonly known as Valentine’s Day. Chocolate was ordered, vases were filled to the brim with all manner of floral arrangement, and sappy cards were purchased at the last screaming minute from the $0.99 section of cards at Rite-Aid. Ah, yes…that’s Amore. For this week’s SLAP! Of The Week however, we witnessed a Valentine’s Day display, for lack of a better word, that was more than deserving of a pimp slap to the chin strap. For one poor young lady, her discussion with her girlfriends at work the day after Valentine’s day will probably go something like this:

1^st Co-worker: (beaming) “Hey Shirley, how was your Valentine’s Day?”

Shirley: (Grunts) “Mmm..it was ok, I mean nothing really special I guess. How about yours?

1^st Co-worker: “Oh it was lovely! My Chad is such a dream! He got me an hour massage at Massage Palace and then he picked me up and took me to Chalet Du Ponce for dinner. He got me a Pandora charm bracelet and had a dozen roses for me in the car! I love him so much!

Shirley: “Jolly for you. What about you Candace?”

Candace: “Well Marcel knows how much I love Belgian waffles, so when I woke up yesterday, he made me a breakfast of Belgian waffles, fruit, and fresh hand squeezed orange juice. He even cut the cantaloupe in the shape of hearts, the little dear. Then last night, I met him after work for dinner and when we got home, he had rose petals leading from the door to the bedroom, and then he…(giggles, then lowers her voice)..he put on a army uniform and…well, lets just say I got my G.I. Joe fantasy! Whew he put it on me! Girl, that’s why I married him, please believe! What about you Shirley, what did you and Hubert do?”

We interrupt this story to say that Shirley’s answer is the reason her man is getting the SLAP! that he so richly deserves. Hubert, brace yo-self, you unromantic, chivalry killing jackwagon.

Shirley: (sighs, begins to tear up) Well….Hubert got me a bag of Skittles, said that it was “Valentine’s red” on the wrapper and that he is glad that I am skinnier than I was last year so he thought candy would be ok this Valentine’s Day…”

Candace: “ Oh helllll no! He said that? What?! Did ya’ll go out at least?

Shirley: (Dabs eyes) “Oh yeah, we went “out” alright….to Border Town Cantina; they were having an “All You Can Eat Enchilada” special and he sat there and ate seven plates of beef and cheese enchiladas! He was asking the waiter what the record was and he said he was gonna try and break it!"

(Co-workers throw up hands, stomp in circles, curse the day Hubert was born, etc)

"He had gas the entire way home and then he comes to bed, with no shower I might add, and wants to….well, that sure wasn’t happening.  Happy freakin’ Valentine’s Day to me.”

Reeeally Hubert? Takin’ the significant other to a all-you-can-eat face stuffing contest? Way to show how you really feel. Here, we got something for you…SLAP! Hope your face stays as red as that Skittles bag, you pile of dumpster meat. Oh, and take a bath!

The Patrons Speak

     Due to the massive amounts of mail (email, fan mail, hate mail, females) pouring into the offices of First Team Cut, we have decided to respond to some of the more interesting feedback from restaurant patrons who feel that they have no representation on First Team Cut. These patrons are writing, texting, Tweeting, and calling at all hours of day and night to say that they feel they aren’t getting a fair shake. Fair enough; there are two sides to every story and so First Team Cut sat down with a test panel to discuss the other side of the dining room aisle.

       In an earlier edition of First Team Cut, we profiled several genres of patron that we have an especially hard time not spitting in their food…or at least considering it. And to be fair (kinda) to those eating at our tables and controlling our financial destinies with the swipe of a pen on a credit card slip, we have agreed to profile several categories of servers who are likely to working for free. These profiles are based on information gleaned from lengthy interviews with patrons on what especially irks them in a server. So servers be advised; you also are being watched. The profiles listed below are in no particular order and fitting any one of them can severely affect your proverbial tip jar. Class is now in session; please take out a pen….there will be a test.

The Happy Gilmore:

     According to those surveyed, The Happy Gilmore is irksome for the same reasons that  no one likes clowns in the dark; given their surroundings, no one is that freakin’ happy unless something is wrong with them.  The Happy Gilmore is that server who every night must go home and alternate heating pads and ice packs on their cheek muscles because they have spent the entire shift smiling from ear to ear like Marlon Wayans in Little Man.. “Heeeeere’s Calvin!” This server is as bubbly as a shaken bottle of Sprite, just fizzing and running over with manufactured gleefulness. It’s one thing to be pleasant with the guests. It’s another thing to make the people sitting at the table feel exhausted from just trying to match the server’s hey-I-just-got-a-pony exuberance. Maybe you really are this happy to be working six straight double shifts at Applebee’s without a day off and your favorite pastime really is getting booster seats for a table of screaming triplets. Maybe. But we doubt it. So tone down the light-bright deal ok? Be sad for two seconds, you’re makin’ people nervous. Thanks.

The Phantom/The Hovercraft:

     This server profile is a mix because it represents the furthest extremes in terms of the amount of attention paid to the table. The Phantom is easy to identify..mainly ‘cause you don’t see him. This server appears suddenly, usually from a fog machine produced haze, takes your order, and then disappears for the remainder of the meal. The patron will see neither hide nor hair of the Phantom; no one knows where this server goes, or where he or she hides. Restaurants can be big places, but for an entire human being to vaporize like that? Maybe we’ll never know who or why The Phantom does what he does.

     The Hovercraft is irritating for the polar opposite reason. This server is like a cat hair on a black sweater; no matter what you do, you can’t shake get him or her off you. The Hovercraft server clings to your table with the tenacity of a lioness on the back of a wildebeest on the Serengeti . The patron cannot take one sip of his drink, much less finish the glass, before the Hovercraft is right there to refill the cup. No table conversation is possible because the Hovercraft is incessantly asking the table does anyone need anything. How is your food? Does it taste good? Better yet, does it taste delicious? Would you like more sauce? More ice? A full-body massage?  Can I change your socks for you?  May I give you a refill? Could you use some more napkins? Is your food still super-duper delicious? May I give you a refill? FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, ENOUGH ALREADY!!! The Hovercraft is best dealt with by using an icy stare and the command to stay away from the table until summoned. Well, that or by spraying him or her with a can of Raid. Fly-swatters and high powered paintball guns can also do the trick.

The Pigpen:

        Let’s talk about some basics. People go to restaurants to eat food. Servers bring that food to the person who wants to eat. People want their food to be safe, as in clean and sanitary. So it would follow the realm of logic that people would like clean servers to bring them clean, safe, sanitary food. Are all the servers reading this paying attention? Good. The Pigpen server, yeah you over in the corner with the dirty and/ or chewed-to-the-nub fingernails, this goes out to you. No one wants their meal served by a person with mustard, ketchup, salsa, barbeque sauce, and two or three other unidentifiable substances caked on their clothes. For Heaven’s sake, wash your clothes, and yourself if you can find the time. The Pigpen server seems to either not care or just be oblivious to the fact that they have the hygiene of a homeless bum. How would you like it if someone brought you their dinner looking like a pile of past expiration date dumpster meat? Sound appetizing? We didn’t think so. At this time, would all servers who fit this description report to the pressure washer area? Feel free to bring your own towel….we will provide the Lysol and Brilo pads.

The Simon Cowell:

       Harsh criticism should come with being a contestant on American Idol, The X Factor, and being a grown man wearing skinny jeans and New Balance jogging shoes to the mall. That being said, harsh criticism should NOT  be coming from the server to the guest when the guest places his or her order.  A meeting with a Simon Cowell server may sound something like this:

Guest:   “I’ll have the cheddar burger with double fries instead of the veggies and steamed rice. Thanks.”

Server:  “Wow. Isn’t that like, a whole lotta carbs? I mean, if you really want that, ok, but I’m just saying that isn’t gonna like, look good on you in five years.”

      What? People come to restaurants to eat, not to hear you critique their eating habits. If the five hundred pound individual at your table wants to order half the menu and a Diet Coke to wash it down with, just roll with it, no pun intended. If you know the chicken broccoli soup tastes like trash can juice and droppings from a dirty gerbil cage and the guests wants it, it’s their funeral. Keep the commentary to yourself, or at least wait ‘till you get back to the kitchen to tell all the other servers about the light bulb at table thirteen who wants a side of mayonnaise to go with their order of raw onions. Just keep the mop and bucket ready, and your mouth shut. Got it?

     There you have it folks; the servers patrons cringe to see coming. Servers…don’t be like any of these. Life is hard enough without you makin’ it worse. Thank you all and goodnight.

Dr. Enmiah Pinniun

 Dear Dr. Enmiah,

     Ok, I’ll say this right from the start; I am a server and I am white. I know that all white people probably say this, but I got lots of friends who are African American and I don’t think I am  a racist by any means but I’ve been having a serious problem and I really need your help. This is my problem ok; I really don’t like waiting on African American people who come in the restaurant. Sometimes they are cool, but most of the time, they run me ragged and they barely ever tip. I try to avoid taking tables of African Americans because I feel like they treat me like a servant or something and they intentionally give me a hard time. Just this week, an African American family came in and they were so rude. The woman ordered me around, inventing stuff she wanted to order that wasn’t even on the menu and then giving me this attitude when we didn’t have shrimp to go with her deli sandwich. On top of that, at the end of the night, they didn’t tip me anything. I was so pissed and I asked my co-workers if this happens to them too. One of them (an African American guy) told me that he “hates waiting on black people” for some of the same reasons that I don’t like it. I was really shocked to hear him say that, especially because he’s African American himself. Dr. Pinnion, I thought that it was just because I am white that I seem to get treated badly by my African American customers. Am I racist to not want to wait on African Americans at my tables? Almost every one of the other servers I work with say that they feel the same. Are we ALL racists? HELP!

Sincerely,

Racially Frustrated

Dear Racially Frustrated,

     If you were fighting the urge to join a White Power Yoga class, I would be more inclined to agree with your concern that you are a racist. From what I can tell, this isn’t the case. You have simply identified a working stereotype that seems to also have been recognized by your co-worker. By definition, a stereotype is aset of widely shared generalizations about a group of people. Give me an example you say?  The generalization shared by you (and a lot of servers interviewed by First Team Cut) is that black people are known for not tipping. Other such stereotypes are that only Asian people own nail salons, the cashier at your local 7-Eleven is Arab, Hispanics make the most of automobile seating, and white people share a fondness for Birkenstocks, Duckhead khakis, and humus. Does this mean that every single individual of the aforementioned groups acts according to the stereotype? Of course not. But enough of ‘em sure do. There is a difference between racism and seeing firsthand the small amount of reality that gives a stereotype its staying power. If the stereotype says black people don’t tip, there has to be some instances of this phenomenon occurring. You have had enough black tables run you ragged and tip like garbage for you to have an aversion to that clientele demographic. However, I am quite certain that you are not aware of a severe medical condition that I have recently uncovered as part of my extensive research into why black people, among other groups, are miserable tippers.

   My research, painstakingly completed over the last several years, has revealed that an alarming percentage of African Americans, Indians (red dot and feather), backwoods or “red-neck” Caucasians, and even many celebrities suffer from a condition called acute leviathanarticosis  (Levi-uh-than-art-icosis). Derived from the Latin meaning “hand of the leviathan”, this condition is commonly known in medical circles as “Alligator Arms”. This acute genetic mutation causes a severe reaction when it comes in contact with certain stimuli, such as a restaurant server leaving the bill for the night on the table. This reaction constricts muscle fibers drastically, which in turn makes the host’s arms short, much like an alligator or crocodile, and thus preventing the afflicted individual from being able to reach one’s checkbook. The disorder can remain latent for long periods of time, until aggravated by a situation like having to tip, a request for a donation by the Salvation Army Santa, or when a friend wants to borrow a few dollars. And yes, this IS a real condition, with real doctors and real medicine.  

     Serious though it may be, suffering from acute levithanarticosis is not an excuse for overtly rude and abusive behavior, ordering a “Skrimp samich” in an Italian restaurant, or leaving doo-doo for a tip. But as a server, it may help you to understand that some of your least favorite customers are suffering from a medical condition. Try and find it in your heart to be sympathetic.

Regards,

Dr. Pinniun

SLAP! Of The Week

Yes, it’s that time again sports fans and domestic beavers. It’s time for this week’s segment of SLAP! Of The Week; that little pause in the progression of humans and civilization where we here at First Team Cut like to put a little powder on our palms and administer a sonic pimp slap to someone actin’ stupid in a restaurant here on our rock called Earth.

This week’s cheek burner goes to a party of six people who came in the restaurant all together. They ordered their drinks all together. They drank their drinks, discussed what they would like to eat, and placed their order…that’s right, all together. After a pause for stations to identify themselves and the kitchen to prepare the meals this party had requested, the food runner* brought out the trays of steaming deliciousness and asked, “Ok guys, one steak and shrimp combo, mashed potatoes, no rice?” Nobody at the table said anything. The food runner waited a beat, shrugged and continued, “Alrighty then, chicken tenders, fries and a side of ranch?” Crickets. The six lawn ornaments at the table look at each other like someone has just asked them what the population of Springfield, Oregon was fifty years ago.  The food runner looks at the ticket on the tray, verifies that yes, this is indeed the correct table. SOMEONE at this table ordered freakin’ chicken fingers. The food runner walked around the table, chicken tender platter on full display…”Going once…Going twice.” Finally, perhaps fearing that he HAD actually order chicken fingers but was too stupid to remember his own order, one patron timidly raised his hand and accepted the platter. One by one the memories of the other assorted jackwagons remembered their orders, and eventually all the entrees were retrieved and the evening continued.

OK…unless this is a Men In Black episode and you had been “Flashy-thingy-ed” by Will Smith, is there any particular reason you can’t remember what YOU asked to be served? Or are you having THAT great of a conversation that NO ONE at the table can remember their order? The food runner dang near had to tell the patron what they ordered, and the he didn’t even take the order! WAKE UP people! Yeah, we can serve you, we can take your petty demands as seriously as edicts from the Pope, but we CAN’T read your mind. Let this SLAP! Of the Week be a lesson to ya. And yes…You are welcome.

*A food runner is a kitchen employee who is designated to bring food out to patrons when it is ready. The food runner does not take meal orders from quests and is not responsible to know what the heck you ordered Jack. So help him out alright?

America's Most Hated Patrons

    The primary objective of First Team Cut is to provide the reader with insights into just what it is like to be a server in the food industry. For those readers who have worked in this vocation, we hope to hear an amen or two from the congregation when you read this blog because you understand exactly where we are coming from. You know about the trials and tribulations that the nation in the pocketed apron goes through on a shift-by-shift basis.

   On the flip side of this equation, there are many out there who have only been the served, never the server. These are kind of people who aren’t wealthy enough to have their own personal servant, but will certainly take advantage of having one when they go out to eat. They have never had to carry out drink orders for a multiple-table section on a Saturday night, all while dodging kids whose parents let them run in a freaking restaurant. For them, the restaurant is somewhere you go, eat your meal, and then Tweet about what bad service you had from a waiter who had the audacity to think he or she was getting any tip after taking six whole minutes to bring out your appetizer. We see you. We know who you are. And to prove that, First Team Cut is announcing its America’s Most Hated Patron list. The offenders we will profile below are ranked from least disliked to the most ferociously detested. In order to make these perpetrators easily identifiable, we have given a code name to each category of offender.   First Team Cut fast response teams are now monitoring restaurants, lounges, bars, and all other establishments where a wait staff is employed to find anyone who fits one of the following descriptions. Like the song says, if you see ‘em, point ‘em out.

The Positive Reinforcer:

    This offender is almost hard to dislike. Well, at first anyway. From the time this patron sits down, they are pleasant. Super pleasant. Too pleasant. They make eye contact with you the server. They initiate the small talk in the drink-and-entrée ordering phases. They compliment you on everything from your impressive collection of Bic pens that are clipped on the edge of your apron pockets to the way that you are able to carry that big ‘ol tray of food out to them all by yourself. They may tell you six to eleven times that you are the very best server they have ever had in the big wide world .They swear with an upraised had to be absolutely sure to go online, fill out the service survey with perfect 10’s, and tell your manager what a vision of service you have been. And then they go and tip one and a half percent of their $65.00 bill, if that much. Apparently this patron believes that this is Never Never Land and that a server can pay bills with just happy thoughts and big toothy smiles. Doesn’t work like that jackwagon. Being Slenda sweet to your server is not an excuse for being a tightwad.

The Queen Elizabeth:

   The Queen Elizebeth is almost always a senior citizen or an individual who believes that they are eating in a restaurant that is far beneath the usual dining venue for someone of their economic standing. The drink-with-my-pinky out crowd if you will. Patrons who fit this description are impossible to please simply because they take pleasure in being unpleaseable.  These offenders seem to think that the menu is merely a collection of suggestions of dishes they may or may not like to eat, and in the event that nothing suggested pleases them, they will order a concoction of their own design. Their order may sound something like this; “Bring me the head of a pig and a garden  salad, with each leaf of the salad individually dabbed in one tablespoon of Italian Balsamic vinaigrette  dressing but without the little bits of herbs that you see floating in Balsamic dressing, as I don’t like anything floating in my dressing. Simply remove them from the dressing and just leave the herbal taste. Also bring me a cheeseburger, hold the burger and replace it with lobster tail that has been marinated for the last hour at least. I like my seafood burgers well marinated and fresh from the sea. Now run along.”

   Uh, Mr. or Mrs. Bout-To- Get-A-Drink-Spilled-On-Them, this here is NEBRASKA. We don’t have lobster fresh from anywhere. And the name of this place is Beaufort’s Burger Shack, not the Ritz. This offender will run the server ragged and then leave a generous tip; something usually like an exhortation to stay in school so that you can get a “real” job. Yeah, thanks. This bit of sage advice that you wrote with a quill pen on a napkin will go a long way towards paying the light bill. And a quill pen? Seriously?

The Mad Dasher:

    The Mad Dasher is just a step below our final and most hated patron, whom we will discuss next. The Mad Dasher is not what you may think; He or she is not one of Santa’s reindeer, nor does he or she leave without paying the bill. Mad Dashers are especially despicable because during the entire meal the Mad Dasher is plotting how to leave a bad tip and then get away without having to look the server they shorted in the face. Mad Dashers are easier to spot when you are closing their check. They will usually try to pay most of, if not the entire bill, with an assortment of coupons, gift cards, and/or free meal cards that have the final hole punched for the free meal. Oftentimes the gift card/coupon medley does not cover the entire bill. However, the Mad Dasher knows this and he plans on tipping only on the amount that he or she has to pay out of pocket. Example. The final bill is $53.50. Coupons and gift cards cover $50.00, leaving the Mad Dasher to pay $3.50 from his personal debit card. This is where the Mad Dasher gets his name. Once the bill and credit card receipts have been returned to the table, the Mad Dasher will thank the server pleasantly. When the server turns and leaves, the Mad Dasher then hastily writes a twenty percent tip….of the $3.50 and scrambles for the door. He knows he is a dirtbag, but by leaving quickly, he avoids the server knowing it while the Mad Dasher is still in his booth.

The Stiff:

    The most hated, the most diabolical, the most rank, steaming pile of humanity is The Stiff. Plain and simple, the Stiff is the person who leaves nothing. Nada. No matter what the bill, no matter how excellent the service. The Stiff combines elements of all the previous profiles. The Stiff may be pleasant like the Positive Reinforcer, or a pain in the gluteus maximas like the Queen Elizabeth. The Stiff often uses the same escape route as the Mad Dasher. But the Stiff don’t tip.  And what’s worse is that the Stiff often shows no remorse. Stiffs camp out in a server’s section for two hours, running the server back to the kitchen for drink refills long after the check has been closed. They know they are not going to tip, they know they are scum, and calling them sludge buckets is an insult to sludge buckets all around the globe. First Team Cut sees you, and we hope you trip at an inopportune moment with your hands full of something fragile.

If you know anyone who fits the descriptions above, please contact your local FTC Fast Response Team at the number on your screen. And if YOU fit one of the descriptions…well, you can run, but you’ll just die tired.

Dr. Enmiah Pinniun

Dear Dr. Pinniun,
    Hi there, I wanted to start my letter by saying that I am a big fan of your work and how you just keep it real. Okay, here's my story. I work as a waitress at this restaurant right, and there was this lady that came in with two other ladies and they all had kids. Well, one lady was just letting the biggest of her two kids run all over the restaurant and I almost tripped over him while I was trying to bring stuff to the table. When I finally got to the table to take their drink order, the lady was letting her baby take all the Splenda, Nutrasweet, and sugar packets out of the holder, tear them all up and throw them on the floor. The lady just kept talking with her friend at the table like nothing was happening. When they got their food, the baby wasn’t even eating the food , it was just throwing it on the ground, pouring out his drink on the floor, and tearing up the paper napkins. Then the lady looks at me and says, “Oh I’m sorry, they do this everywhere we go”. I bout lost my mind. Tell me what is the deal with people like this!


Sincerely,
Ready To Snap

Dear Ready to Snap,
   Right from the start, please allow me to commend you on what an amazing amount of self restraint you managed to display while under the duress of seeing a parent fail so miserably in their duties to restrain their offspring. I am utterly astounded at the lack of common courtesy and overall negligence of the parent in question. Now, allow me to keep it real, as they say. Slap the Splenda powder off that baby! I’m telling you right now, Dr. Enmiah don’t play that! I would test that little poop factory’s behind right then and there if my kid was making that kinda mess right in front of my face!

   Allow me to regain my composure. Simply put, the parent is acting as enabler. My first question to you is what was the ethnicity of the mother in your story? My research (and personal observation) has led me to notice that such parenting is especially indigenous to Caucasian mothers in the middle to upper classes. The use of such disciplinary measures such as “Time Out” and “Don’t Make Mommy Count To Three” as well as the oh-so-fearsome five whole minutes in the dreaded “Thinking Chair” are especially futile in curtailing the rambunctious nature of two-to-eleven year old children, males especially. These techniques merely allow the little hellion to catch his breath from running through a restaurant, leaving the mother frazzled and unwilling to battle the child’s strong willed nature at the next skirmish. So what would I recommend? Why not break out those Velcro leashes for Junior and just tie him to the chair where you’re sitting? Or maybe a dose of something a little stronger. I have noticed African-American mothers don't play this wait-for-my-kid-to-listen routine. Just go to a Wal-Mart and see how long little Terrell pitches that fit. Go to my website DrEnmiah.com/ParentingToolStore and order The Black Momma Backhand. Maximum torque. Minimal drag. Built for close quarters. Administered when that little tax write-off starts acting out, you will find that little squirt will straighten up with amazing speed. My own mother used a similar item; street name was Switch (actually it was a car antennae that she found) and it worked wonders. She kept one on the dashboard of our family van so she could administer swift border-town justice to any child of hers that thought for even a second that they could act out, all while weaving in and out of traffic to get to the bank before it closed. She didn’t break a sweat, she didn’t plead with us to behave. She just whooped dat….well, you see the point.

In short, children are masters at stretching the boundaries to the breaking point. So parents, stretch yo’ back and beat that …..butt. Doctor’s orders.

Regards,

Dr. Pinniun