True Stories Of Entitled Parents That Made Us See Red

“I can finally air my uncensored frustration about the night my engagement was single-handedly corrupted by my entitled mother-in-law. (Let’s call her ‘Ellen’ because she always reminded me of Ellen DeGeneres, even before all this recent news broke.)

Ok, so my girl and I were really engaged to be engaged. We’d both agreed we wanted to get married, but I hadn’t done the formal proposal yet because we wanted to meet each other’s families first (neither lived nearby.)

I always thought the old trope about meeting the in-laws being a big fiasco was a myth, both because I was younger and more naive then and because I’m lucky to have easy parents.

My partner met them for a few hours.

Once we were alone just me and them I told them my intentions and my mom asked, ‘Does she have any kids already?’ And my dad asked, ‘Does she have a good solid job?’ And they both asked, ‘You really love her?’ And that was that, I had their full support for the marriage.

I thought meeting her parents would be the same. Some grilling was to be expected, but as long as I was honest and respectful, it would all be fine.

Relevant fact, they had my girl when they were teenagers, by surprise, so now had a ‘do over daughter’ (their words, not mine!!) who was just six years old.

My partner and I made the trip up to their city and I met them for the first time over dinner at a steak house. It was pretty upscale, and we’d scheduled the dinner for 8:00 pm, so I was surprised to see they’d brought the kid along with them.

I met everyone at once and the initial awkwardness settled once we’d sat down. We were making great small talk when the six-year-old said she was thirsty.

No big deal right? Well, all of a sudden Ellen starts screaming, ‘Water?

Water! WATER?!’ A waiter came rushing over to see what the commotion was and, without even making eye contact with the poor guy, Ellen went ‘We’ve been here forever and no one’s even gotten us any water.

My daughter’s been asking.’

We had been sitting for about fifteen or twenty minutes without service, but they were visibly behind, and there were no circumstances that would’ve warranted that shouting.

I should’ve realized from how unfazed everyone else at the table was that I should be bracing myself for a long night, but I couldn’t imagine what was to come at that point.

The waiter rushed over with water and apologized for the delay, explaining a few very large parties had arrived all at once. The guy seemed sincere and quite affable, so I thought the water would just be an anomaly on an otherwise pleasant night.

Then Ellen kicked into full gear.

‘We’ll need a kid’s menu,’ she informed the waiter. He said that they didn’t have a kid’s menu, but that the chef could simplify most dishes. ‘What do you mean you don’t have a kid’s menu?’ Ellen replied in total disbelief, as though he’d said they didn’t have a fire exit.

He explained they didn’t get too many child visitors and that there were enough plain foods on the menu that no separate menu had ever been necessary. Ellen sighed dramatically and waved him away. Literally, without saying a word, waved him off from the table.

I tried to give him an apologetic glance but, understandably, he didn’t look back our way. I was so glad the poor guy left and didn’t have to be subjected to her anymore.

Meanwhile, she turned her attention to me, and I almost wished he’d come back.

At least he was getting paid to be here. She was like, ‘So you’re a screenwriter?’ And I explained, ‘Well, yes and no. I want to be, but it’s hard to get a job in that field that you can support yourself on, so I’m working at a non-profit right now.

There’s a screenwriting component to the job though, so I’m really happy there.’

Ellen turned to her six-year-old and went ‘Hear that, hun? You want to be sure to snag a man who works for profit. Learn from this.

It’s not too late for you.’ I couldn’t tell if she was trying to be funny or not. So, I just let it pass, looking over to my partner to see if she was even considering speaking up on my behalf.

Nope.

The waiter came back, visibly nervous. That hurt, because he was so relaxed and personable at the start of the meal. He asked if we’d like to hear the specials before we ordered and Ellen said sure. Here’s how that went.

Waiter: First we have a lightly seared strip stea—

Ellen: Next!

Waiter: Oh… uh, ok. Then we have a broiled leg of grass-fed—

Ellen: Next!

Waiter: Uh, we, uh, we have a pasta prima vera mixed with—

Ellen: NEEEEXXXXTTTTTTUHHH

And on and on until he’d gone through all seven or ten specials, even though she ultimately ordered off the menu, a plain ribeye, well done.

She tried to order her daughter the same, but the kid said she just wanted plain mashed potatoes, so Ellen let her get mashed potatoes alone for dinner. Then… she sent the waiter away! The rest of us hadn’t even ordered yet!

And everyone else just sat there like it was entirely normal!

I waited for someone to say something, thinking it was more her older daughter’s (my partner’s) place or her husband’s, but when no one did I couldn’t help myself.

‘I, uh, was the one steak and potatoes going to be for all of us, or?’ My partner explained, in the tone you’d use for a tourist violating a sacred local taboo, ‘My mom always has the waiter put the kid’s food in first, so it can get started right away.

We’ll order once the kitchen has hers.’

I thought she was joking since Ellen didn’t just order her kid’s food, she also ordered her own dinner too. So I laughed. ‘Something funny?’ Ellen asked. Then I realized she was serious, and I shut up.

Thankfully her dad at least recognized that what was normal for them might not be as regular to me and tried to lighten the mood with a change of topic. But not even ten minutes after we’d ordered (I guess technically five minutes after we’d ordered, ten minutes after she and her daughter had ordered,) Ellen started in again.

Another table, that had been there long before we were, got a side order of mashed potatoes with their meal. Ellen threw a total conniption. She was sputtering so inaudibly that none of us could figure out what was wrong at first.

Finally, she managed to flag down some busboy who barely spoke English and began laying into him like he’d just side-swiped her on the freeway. He kept trying to explain he wasn’t a server and that he could go get one, but she wouldn’t stop to breathe long enough for him to find someone who could actually help.

All the while I kept looking at my partner for signs of embarrassment, or at the very least irritation, but you wouldn’t have known if she was even hearing any of this.

Our waiter came over, somehow still feigning a smile despite knowing what he was walking into, and Ellen actually goes ‘Why did that table get mashed potatoes and ours haven’t come yet?’

The waiter kindly but concisely explained, ‘Well Ma’am, those people ordered potatoes before your party had placed their order.’ Ellen looks this man dead in the eye (finally) and says, ‘Well it doesn’t matter when they ordered it.

My daughter is the youngest one here! Her food should come out first.’

You could tell the waiter was working hard to restrain himself at this point. He explained it was a first come, first served, policy and age didn’t help one way or the other.

He offered to go check on the potatoes, Ellen agreed, or more specifically she said, ‘Yah, you better!’ but I was clocking him and he went right back to his server station (because we had only just ordered a few minutes ago!)

Three or five more minutes passed, during which we could have no other discussion at the table except how awful this restaurant was, how hungry the poor baby was (who hadn’t said a word about being hungry this whole time and was contently playing her loud iPad game, without headphones, disturbing all the other diners around us), and how America has lost all respect for motherhood because it’s just a ‘me, me, me’ culture now.

I chimed in, ‘I’m with you on that last part.’ And to my utter shock, instead of laughing at my joke, my partner seemed annoyed with me!

So after a few minutes, the waiter comes back and says the potatoes will be out very soon.

Ellen then goes and does something that, again, I thought was just a myth.

She took three singles and a five out of her wallet and put them on the table in full view of the waiter. Then she took one single away and said ‘Every table I see getting potatoes before us is a bill gone.’

I was absolutely mortified. The waiter, to his unending credit, just took a deep breath and said ‘I don’t have control over the order in which the kitchen fires tickets, but what I can tell you is it should be out any minute.’ And left without saying anything disparaging.

I had been holding my tongue all night as well, in the name of my relationship, but once the tip hit the table (the $8 tip for a $100+ bill, on top of all else) I figured if my partner was half the woman I thought she was then she wouldn’t mind my speaking up at this point.

If anything, she’d be supportive, right?

So I scooted my chair back a bit and said, ‘Listen I know what you’re doing with the cash on the table, but that kind of thing makes me really uncomfortable, and it’s just not called for.

Please put the money away or we can just continue this some other time.’

My partner’s dad spits back, ‘What? How cheap do you have to be to not believe in tipping service workers?’ Before I could process whether he was serious or yanking my chain, Ellen shocked me with, ‘No, you know what, you’re right, this isn’t necessary.’

I should’ve known better than to be relieved. She folded the bills back into her wallet, patiently waited for the next plate of mashed potatoes to be carried out, and when it wasn’t delivered to us, (it was a very common side dish at this place, a steak house,) she went right up to a stranger’s table and picked it up off their table.

She half explained something about her daughter ‘starving to death,’ as she was walking away with the stranger’s food, but unsurprisingly, that wasn’t convincing enough for them. The old lady she took it from followed her right over to our table and tried to take it back.

I was already searching for my coat tag in preparation to go, but a shoving match was beginning to unfold between Ellen and an elderly woman with a tennis ball walker, and far be it from me to sit through all that had happened only to leave just as the night was getting interesting.

The elderly woman was like ‘Give me back my potatoes!! Who are you??’ And the poor little girl was like, ‘Mommy, it’s ok, don’t take someone else’s potatoes…’

But it all fell on deaf ears.

Ellen yelled at the old lady, ‘How could you sit there and eat these when my daughter hasn’t even been served yet? She’s sitting here hungry, just a little girl, and you’re over there stuffing your face?

Come on, other potatoes will be out any minute.’

And the old lady, got to love her, was like, ‘Great, if they’ll be out any minute, then what’s the freaking problem?!’ To which Ellen still found holier than thou ground, gasping, ‘Language, please!’

Finally the waiter, and this time someone higher up as well, I think the manager, thank God, came over to separate them, as they had begun to raise their voices and cause a disturbance.

Staff had already asked Ellen to turn down her daughter’s iPad multiple times without heed, and I’m guessing the waiter informed management about the ‘tip on the table,’ stunt she pulled because this was their final straw.

They told us we were going to have to leave the restaurant.

‘But we don’t even have our food yet!’ Ellen complained at the guy. This was clearly not the manager’s first rodeo. ‘You can take the food that’s already been served free of charge, everything else will be canceled. Please leave immediately.’

The old lady didn’t miss her chance to knock the potatoes right onto the floor so we couldn’t try to take them with us. Nothing else had been served yet, so, we had to leave without any food.

When my partner and I were finally alone in our car she said ‘Can you believe that?’ And I said, ‘Not at all. And I really can’t believe you didn’t warn me!’ And she went, ‘How could I have known about any of that?’ And, confused, I asked, ‘Is she not usually like that?’ Even more confused than me, my partner asked, ‘Who?’ ‘Your Mom!’ ‘What’s my Mom got to do with the terrible service at that place?’

That was the beginning of the end of our relationship. The fact that she didn’t see anything wrong with her mom’s behavior, and that I’d be marrying into that situation, shook me too deep.

We both dodged a bullet in more ways than one.

In hindsight, we weren’t right for each other, regardless of who her family was. Her mom saved us both a lot of time and heartache, helping me realize in one night what would’ve probably taken us years otherwise.

Within a month we’d moved into separate apartments and gone on a ‘break,’ that ended up lasting forever.

I’m not sorry I won’t see you again, Ellen. I am sorry any waitstaff ever will, though.”