I should probably start by saying that I don't have kids. But what I am about to say I say as an older sister of identical twin boys, a summer camp counselor, a high school tutor, the daughter of an elementary school teacher and the founder of a pre-teen babysitting business. I like kids. A lot. 

But as a 10-year veteran of the restaurant industry allow me to speak for nearly every waitress, busboy, bartender and restaurant manager out there when I say I simply cannot help it, I hate your kids.

I've worked everywhere from fine dining to the local beer garden, and let me tell you: waitressing isn't an easy job to begin with. It's demoralizing that I have to do it to supplement my income. It's awkward when I run into colleagues. And it's angering when customers--and countless sleazy dudes--assume I have no other marketable intelligence outside of rattling off the draft beer list. On top of that, there's your damn kids. For starters, they're dirty: They throw noodles all over the floor, spread spaghetti sauce, drop breadbaskets. They spill water on the tablecloth and crawl underneath the table. They want crayons and drawing paper to keep them entertained, and they require an extra trip to the storage closet for a high chair and a broom, which--with six other tables demanding my attention--can make or break a tip.

They whine, moan, and poop. They demand everything and contribute nothing: their food is cheap (if they order food at all) and they don't get drinks (yes, I know that's obvious, but a waitress's No. 1 goal is to up that tab). They need special food that's not too hot and not too hard, and their bottles need to be heated up--but they can't be microwaved. ("Can I get a warm--but not too hot--basin to soak this in?" I've had many-a-mother ask sweetly.) For the record, restaurants don't keep "hot water basins" on hand.

The more I think about it, it might actually be you that I hate more than your child. After all, you should know better. Kid-friendly restaurants do exist, but mine isn't one of them. Yet you insist on coming mit kindern, with no thought for etiquette. When you step through the door, we waiters flip coins to see who'll get stuck with your table. Patrons grunt when they get sat next to you. You order special items and you want to modify them. Or worse, you bring your own food, and ask me to heat up baby Gerber green beans on a plate next to your fillet mignon. Newsflash: we're running a restaurant, not a full-service daycare.

I took a little survey of a number of my friends in the service industry and the result was unanimous: families with kids are grumpier, higher maintenance, and cheaper when the bill comes. (In a new parenting survey out this month, two-thirds of new mothers said having a baby has destroyed their social life, and they resent their partners for continuing to go out.) They don't realize how much extra work they've created for that waiter, and in many cases, they don't supplement them monetarily.

Sure, you just had a kid--you're broke. I get it. But I'm broke, too. If I weren't, I wouldn't be working this crappy job to begin with. The federal minimum wage for tipped workers is $2.13 an hour, so if you're stiffing me after making me babysit your kid for two hours, I just wasted a whole lot of energy. Which makes me not want to put any energy into waiting on families to begin with. "At the end of the day, you want to be a nice person, but you want to make money," says Abby Nichols, a former waitress and good friend who is now a San Francisco lawyer. "Kids are a lot of trouble, the parents are demanding, and they often don't compensate you." The bottom line? Next time you go out, take your kid to T.G.I. Fridays.