Restaurant Ridiculousness

Asshat of the Day: Restaurant Ridiculousness

Subtitle: Because nothing says “fine dining” like dog hair in your fettuccine.

We’re seated at a nice little restaurant — linen napkins, real silverware, candles pretending we’re civilized. It’s one of those rare moments I’m trying to enjoy a meal without cooking, cleaning, or refereeing the clicker wars. The server’s halfway through pouring water when the door jingles, and in walks a woman with a goldendoodle in a vest that looks suspiciously like it came from Etsy.

It’s got the whole “Service Dog” getup: patches, leash, the works. Except this dog isn’t guiding anyone, detecting anything, or doing any of the noble tasks we all respect real service animals for. Nope. It’s licking the hostess stand like it just discovered salt.

The woman struts in with the confidence of a Nobel laureate, proclaiming loudly, “He’s my emotional support animal!” as if that phrase is a magic spell to bypass public decency. The hostess hesitates, probably calculating the odds of a lawsuit versus the smell of wet fur in the dining room.

Meanwhile, my sinuses have already filed a restraining order. My son’s eyes go wide — flashbacks to the Great Yorkie Incident of 2016. I’m clutching my antihistamines, my inhaler, and my pride, desperately trying not to sneeze on the breadsticks while the dog circles its owner like a furry landmine.

We’re not talking calm and quiet. This dog is doing perimeter checks. It sniffs chairs, tail-whips the next table, and finally decides to shake its entire body — mid-aisle, mid-meal service — sending dander and droplets into the ambient air like biological confetti.

The woman coos, “He just loves people!” as if that’s supposed to make everyone grateful for the shared allergens. The server passes with the dead-eyed expression of someone who’s seen humanity’s end times and still has to ask if we want dessert.

By the time the check comes, I’ve gone through half a box of tissues, my son’s hiding behind a menu, and the dog’s eating a bread roll off the floor like it earned a tip.

Diagnosis: Rampant entitlement masquerading as emotional fragility, with secondary symptoms of canine chaos and selective empathy.
Recommended Treatment: A therapy session without an audience — and without a leash.
Moral: If your emotional support animal is making everyone else need emotional support, it’s not the animal that’s the problem.

Postscript: People don’t seem to give a single damn about taking their dogs everywhere anymore — restaurants, stores, waiting rooms — with zero thought for the folks wheezing or panicking beside them. I’m allergic to anything with fur, feathers, or an attitude (including some humans), and my son’s still terrified after one bad encounter with a pack of yorkies. Since when did we care more about animals than each other?

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#RestaurantRidiculousness #EmotionalSupportCircus #SocialCommentary #AsshatOfTheDay #StupidityManagement #DumbDecisionsDaily