Who We Should Really Ban From Restaurants And Life

There’s been talk in the media and even some local mentions of banning children from restaurants, theaters and life. At first, I found banning an entire group based on age to be another way to judge and condemn families, but then I realized that I have a crap load of people to suggest we ban.


Sloppy Beer Spillers

I hate when I get beer, wine or any sort of sticky substance spilled on me by sloppy people. I’m trying to enjoy a baseball game or I’m still at the night club and here comes Teeter-Totter in her 14 inch wedges and 2 cosmos into embarrassment. She might gives me the OOPS SORRY but that doesn’t make up for the stink and stain on my styling shirt. And once she’s 4 drinks in, she doesn’t apologize anymore, which is fine because call in the Sloppy Drink Spilling Ban, and she’ll be lucky to get into a TGIF bar in this city.

Crappy Drivers

My city has a plethora of terrible drivers. I had never seen as many traffic accidents as I did my first month in town. So I’d like to ban bad drivers from roads I’m on whenever I happen to be on them. I would like to focus on the ones who leave their signal blinking for months, those don’t understand the natural laws of tailgating and merging and think every four-way intersection might have a stop sign.

Movie Yakkers

What’s going on? I can’t believe she did that! What other movies was he in? And it’s not just in the theater. How many times have I sat in front of a friend’s flat-screen TV only to be bombarded from the moment we hit play with questions, comments and inane chatter. People who can’t be quiet during movies should not only have to leave theaters, but they should have their Netflix accounts revoked until filmed watching a DVD with quiet respect.

Junk-to-Truck Guys at the Club

The guys at the night club who stick their junk in my butt when I’m trying to dance. I can’t enjoy my time on the dance floor with them around, and I’m tired of tell them that I live in a bubble and they need to stop popping it with their penises. We should have women dancing next to bouncers as the final checkpoint to entry. In fact, find me a woman who’s ever enjoyed the random grinder guy, and I’ll find you another person who should be banned from dance clubs.

Squishy Restaurant Setups

I’m out to dinner with my handsome husband. We’re eating early because we can only catch 7:30 p.m. movies without falling asleep. Plus, we’re used to eating at 5:30 every day because we’re old hungry souls. We enter the mostly empty restaurant only to be seated next to the only other couple with our 2-person tables exactly 6 inches apart. I’d like to ban the hosts who think I’m out on a date to snuggle with random elderly couples.

Phone Callers

I hate talking on the phone. Stop calling or be banned.

Honestly, I could go on and on because many people ruin my day most days of the week with their ignorance, volume control problems and inability to read my mind and give me exactly what I want all the time no matter what.

So once the world revolves around my needs and cities ban these out-of-control people ruining-my-driving-dancing-dinner dates, I would be happy to discuss a baby ban. But mostly because I don’t like babies either.

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The Salad Bar: Fraught With Danger!

I’m at the salad bar of my local grocery store grabbing lunch before the onslaught of preschool pickup, and while this particular salad bar is deliciously more than just salad, the place is fraught with danger.

The other day, I encountered OLD MAN YELLING.

{squiggly flashback lines}

I sit down to blog and eat.

Old man: WHAT’S THAT?

I look down at my countertop: laptop, iPhone, plastic salad to-go container.  I look at his table: newspaper, plastic salad to-go container.  So I’ve it narrowed down to TECHNOLOGY.

Me: My phone? and I wave my iPhone like a flag of surrender to my elders.


Me: Well, you can use it as a phone (I think), but mostly I use it to access the Internet or find my car in parking lots.

Old man brightens up at the thought of taming mall parking lots and wanders over to me.  Although once he notices that he couldn’t read a single tiny word on my iPhone, he moves on to my computer.


Me: An Apple.  It’s by the same company that made my phone.

And on and on the yelling went. We covered my age, my marriage, my education, my kids, my aspirations, my money situation.  And by “we”, I mean the entire grocery store.

However, on this day, my problems arise before I even have food.  I reach for my salad bar container and file behind Salad Bar Aficionado, which is no big deal since her sheer willpower at forcing so many items to be in one giant mound is enjoyable.

The problem was behind me.  As in too close behind me.

That’s right, the woman next in line is a TOO CLOSE IN LINE-ER. {shudder}

Now, I’m not against touching, but I’m awkward with hugs at best.  And when it comes to the general public, I like to picture a bubble around me. And as I’ve explained on many a college night when faced with the Pelvic Dance Club-ers, this bubble has a radius of at least a foot.

My first stop is lettuce. And Too Close In Line-er stops at the lettuce.  Except there was NO ROOM FOR HER AND THE LETTUCE AND MY BUBBLE. I couldn’t even pick through the lettuce like I usually do when faced with paying for my food by the pound. I was forced to keep brown lettuce AND PAY FOR IT.

I pick up the pace. I grab at the cucumbers while she’s still at the lettuce hoping for enough time to tong some broccoli, but suddenly, she’s shoulder-to-shoulder before I could say: Ooh, edamame!

I take a stand at my favorite vegetable, but she was too powerful with her standing so closeness.

I am forced to sprint ahead to the potato salad only to be held up by Salad Bar Aficionado balancing a second scoop of chicken salad on her tower of deliciousness.  Afraid to turn around, I hear Too Close In Line-er sigh, and I know my days of mozzarella and tomato salad are numbered.

But the salad bar gods interceded.  While the Aficionado and I enjoy indulging in the pasta section, Too Close moves right on to the fruit.  SHE CUT THE SALAD BAR LINE.  But I don’t even care.

Because I am free… to scoop as many croutons as I want, that is.

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