In the great golden state of California we have been faced with a recent influx of people who think that dogs are human beings and it is positively terrifying.
Anything that eats its own vomit and licks it’s own “personal parts” does not qualify as meeting proper health code standards. No, your dog may not sit next to you on the booth. You wear pants. Your dog does not. I’m certain that you wouldn’t want to sit in a seat recently occupied by a person who wasn’t wearing any clothing so why in the world do you think anyone would like to sit in a seat that your adorable toy poodle has just spent the last hour rubbing it’s asshole on? I don’t care that you recently purchased a certifiable “therapy dog” vest from the World Wide Web. The 14.99 that you spent on that vest doesn’t give you the authority to break common laws of decency. It’s gross. Stop it.
And if your dog lunges at the busboy as they approach the table to take your drink order, leave it at home. They make minimum wage. Which means they aren’t making nearly enough to deal with the stress of worrying over the possibility of your German Shepherd ripping their throat out.
If your first words when I approach your table are, “This is Rachel. She’s a little nervous. Just put your hand out real slow and let her sniff you,” I’m out. It’s cute that you took your dog to the groomer and got darling little purple bows tied into the fur around her ears but those little bows don’t make her nice, they just make me think she is. I won’t think she’s cute when she’s gnawing on a piece of my thumb. And Rachel doesn’t need to sit in a chair at the table, circa C.M. Coolidge. Unless she’s about to light up a thick Cuban cigar and start rolling out a mean game of poker, she can sit on the ground. She doesn’t need to eat off of our plates. Get her a set of purple bowls that match her little chiffon bows and call it a day. Or better yet, leave her at home until she’s has enough obedience classes to teach her that it’s not okay to snap and growl at the nice waitress that’s just trying to take your order and make it through her shift fully in tact. My boyfriend likes my fingers just where they are. So do my other customers because how the hell else am I supposed to carry their damn plates to the table? I’m not blessed with a Kim Kardashian ass.
If your dog knows how to behave in public then, by all means, please come again. If not, well, I think my point has been made. I don’t want to meet Rachel. I hate the color purple anyway.