Enough with the Fake Service Dogs
Fuck you and your fake fucking service dog. You know who you are.
This is a restaurant, it serves food. Dogs are outside creatures. Lord forbid you leave them at home where they can sleep and fart and drool to their little hearts content. If you’re blind, well that’s one thing, but you are walking in here, in your barely manageable heels, with a fucking Shih Tzu in your purse and plopping down at a table next to other patrons who are here to enjoy their dinner. You need emotional support? Really? You are not too emotionally fragile to be a bitch about how much dressing goes on your salad, you seem perfectly competent when it comes to complaining that we don’t serve rosé, and you are obviously comfortable feeding bits of grilled chicken to your dog off one of my bread plates. You do know that people eat off that plate, right? When you eat at home do you serve yourself dinner in a dog bowl? No? Then why the hell would you use my human designated plate as a platter for your pricey purse pooch.
And ya’ know what? Just don’t bring the dog to dinner, because we have a patio – it’s goddamn January and if I get pneumonia schlepping your dinner out onto the freezing-ass sidewalk, then I’m out of work for two weeks just so you can maintain the delusion that you are some sort of considerate person. Oh, and while you’re out there, your dog’s thirsty? Great. I’ll get you a to-go container with some tap water. Please don’t let you dog drink out of the water glass. Water glasses are for people. That is just not sanitary.
Do you really need a service dog in a busy restaurant? If you go into cardiac arrest I’m here and I can call 911. Hell, any one of the 6 people you are splitting the bill with could probably manage to stop instagramming their food long enough to make an emergency phone call. My coworker, the one who is allergic to dogs, can even perform CPR in the event of an emergency, but she won’t be coming anywhere near you in the meantime because she is violently allergic to your cutesy creature comfort.
You love your pet? Awesome. I love mine too, but you will never see me imposing my cats on complete strangers who are shelling out a hundred bucks for a bottle of Brunello, or dropping a considerable amount of coin on a special and rare family dinner. I have a great pets, super cute, you know what I do? I take pictures of ’em. I probably have twenty pictures of them on my phone right now. It’s great, I can show people how good looking they are, provide visual aids for my comical bits about being a cat lady, and when I’m out to dinner myself, nobody has to worry about whether my cats will take a crap in my handbag while they are having dessert. Because seriously, lets be honest with ourselves – of all the things that we need in life – all of the things that we wish for, and pray for, and desperately need, the last thing any of us needs is more shit in our purse.