Let me be clear here. My job is to bring you food and beverages, not baby sit your obnoxious crotch droppings. Just because you made a bad choice and split a case of Busch Light with Bubba in the back of his 4x4 doesn't make me in any way sympathetic to your plight in life. Take care of your fucking kids.
No, I won't apologize when I'm carrying a large tray of very hot food with breakable plates and glasses and I happen to step on/kick/elbow/punt your little bastard as I walk through the dining room. And no I won't apologize when I laugh when they trip over a leg of a chair and smash their face on a table because they are running around like a ferret with rabies. And no I don't have band aides.
And HELL NO I'm not taking that dirty diaper from you, there is a garbage in the bathroom next to the changing station. Oh - you changed it right there on the table? No, I'm not wiping that for you either (though you can be assure I'll napalm it to death with every disinfectant known to Red Lobster immediately upon your leaving).
While you might be lured into thinking we are a baby sitting service - I mean we do have the Lobster Tank with giggly teenage hostesses standing nearby - aka Child Entertainment Zone - we do not actually get paid to watch your kids.
I don't care what political party, if someone ran on the platform of a minimum requirement for people to be allowed to reproduce, I'd vote for it every time. Just because you got the equipment doesn't mean you should get into the game.