Thursday, September 17, 2009

Babies and Burritos

Venturing to the Irvine Spectrum should normally be a joyous occasion of eating, blowing all of one's money on specialty stores that cater to people who find $50 bills in their sofa cushions, but this was certainly not the case, as I found out this past Monday, when I ventured to said shopping center in order to enjoy a tasty burrito from Chipotle®™.

It was only after finding a place to sit outside that a small-framed woman in her late-20's and stilettos decided to take the table next to me - and pleasantly scream as her equally-as-young husband approached, carrying their 2 year-old daughter. Correct me if I'm wrong, but shouldn't two year-olds not capable of eating a full meal not have a 12-inch-long lollipop? No matter, amidst the screaming and intermixed off-tune singing of "Lollipop, Lollipop" by Stiletto Mom, the kid didn't touch the damn thing.

I went on to bite my burrito, when suddenly the little girl (as all little kids do) began to scream and cry. Why? Who knows? It's just that simple. Heaven forbid her parents know what to do about it, though. What follows is a recount of the incident in play format (Editor's Note: The Scene is best acted out with three people. Try to mix it up by having actors of the opposite sex portray the father and the mother and with a baby pig as the little girl):

Fade In:
Mother. (Jumps up to reach for the baby) What the hell did you feed her?
Father. (Blank stare) Nothing.
Baby. Waaah!
Mother. I wish you would just be honest and tell me. (Proceeds to run from the table, across the way with the baby in arms, still screaming)
Father. (Follows suit.) She just had a bite of corn.
Mother. (Incredulously) Corn?! How could you? (Runs closer to the table, away from the husband again).
Father. (Catches up with her, takes the baby) Let me get her water.
Mother. (Grabs baby) Her mouth is burning!
Father. From corn?
Mother. (Runs away again). Pour water in her mouth!
Father. (Runs to table, comes back with water cup) Here! (Pours water, but it ends up all over the kid's face. Baby gurgles and chokes)
Mother. Do something!
Father. (Grabs baby). She needs her bottle.
Mother. (takes baby back) Go to the car! (Father runs off to car, mother continues coddling the baby, who is still bawling). There, there. There, there.
Father. (Runs up with bottle) Here! (begins feeding baby milk from her bottle)
Baby. Puke! (she spews all over the mother's face, jacket, and nearby ground. everything is very "Poltergeist")
Father. (Takes baby, runs off a ways)
Mother. (Takes off her jacket, lays it on the puke, runs up to the father and baby) Give her here!
Father. Ok (hands baby back. Mother runs into the parking lot, out of sight. Father follows suit).
Pfluger. (Looks at the left-behind jacket and turns to the table next to him, looks at the bags of brand-new clothes, the uneaten burritos, the child's jacket strewn on top, and the uneaten lollipop. Shrugs.) Huh.

20 minutes later

Pfluger. (Gets up, walks past the items still left behind, throws away his trash. Leaves.)


To this very day, I believe their left-behind articles still sit on that table at Chipotle®™ with the hope of the owners coming back to claim them.

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Brandon and Erin