I Hope the Kitchen God Is of the "Smiting" Dieties

The R.A. has been on vacation this past week.  This means his entire schedule is kaput.  Thankfully the R.A. is a very laid back, roll with it kind of guy so such an upset doesn't matter.

Yeah, right.  In ancient times people would sing funeral dirges.  This past week the R.A. has been mourning the loss of his schedule so he's been engaging in his own dirge-like caterwauling.  It's very sorrowful yet "nails on chalkboard" like.

Yesterday we had to run errands.  Unfortunately none of the errands involved getting french fries and nuggets from McDonald's.  I noticed that I was driving hunched over and white knuckled.  After a while I realized I wasn't stressed out from navigating the chaotic streets of Lawrence but due to the R.A.'s wails.  With the passing of each mile that didn't involve procuring the fries and nuggets, the R.A.'s yowlings increased to the point that I thought they would shatter the windshield.  A short time later I actually wished the windshield would shatter and pierce my ear drums.

After our errands we took the children to a park in town.  Initially the R.A. was not on board with this, demonstrating this by shrieking and refusing to get out of the car.  One would have thought we had planned an impromptu trip to the dentist for recreational root canals.  My husband attempted to coax the R.A. out of the car.  Nerves stretched very thin, I observed their fruitless interaction ("Come on, buddy, come out and play."  "NOOOOOO!" Repeat.) for a good 6 seconds before snapping at my husband, "Don't give him a choice.  Just carry him out of the car."

The "up" side of roaring into the park, our own four person "Dysfunctional Pahloozah," is that the park clears out pretty fast and we get all the equipment to ourselves.  By the time we finally schlepped through the parking lot, the family that had been there had scurried away.  Cowards.

Once on the Terra Firma of the playground, the R.A. immediately calmed down.  He smiled delightedly as he hung in inappropriate ways from railings.

As it had been a bit of a trying morning, we let our daughter select where we would go to lunch - provided her selection was located near a McDonald's.  I won't say the actual name of the establishment.  To protect the innocent I will only refer to it as "Pizza Shack."

Off we went, making the requisite McD stop first.   We gathered that the R.A. was disappointed by the long line at the drive-thru,  basing this on the R.A.'s shrieking, rocking, and smacking himself in the head.  As both my husband and I now had the shakes, we moved onto Plan B - my husband running inside to get the food.  We looked like something from a S.W.A.T tactical sweep.   I gunned it around the parking lot, my husband jumping from the car (which I don't think I had stopped) and racing into the building.  He was gone approximately 3 minutes during which time the R.A. caterwauled and rocked wildly.  The R.A. was so wound up that even when his father fell back into the car, huffing and sweating, waving the bag of food, the R.A. could not calm down.  But we were a family with a plan - so grimly we carried on.  We were going to have pizza come hell or high water.

Let's just say this time the hell or high water won.

Once in the "Pizza Shack" parking lot we played another rousing round of  "Come on Buddy, Come Out - NOOOOOO!" the meal time edition.  We dragged ourselves into the restaurant.  Naturally as it wasn't very busy we had to wait for a table.  By this point the R.A. was suffering from extreme rage exhaustion and only sporadically yowled.  This meant we got to enjoy withering looks from a retired couple at a nearby table.  I was two seconds from plonking the R.A. down at their table out of sheer spite but luckily (for them) the wait person finally sat us, her look rivaling that of the crabby couple.

It seemed our bottoms had only grazed the seats when my husband popped back up again, his face very red.  Not a good sign.  I was busy getting my daughter settled and missed the beginning of the exchange between my husband and the wait person.  Apparently she had informed my husband that "outside" food was not allowed.  My husband explained that the R.A. had autism and had food issues. I tuned in when she countered with a shrug and "I don't know what to tell you but we don't allow outside food."  At this point my husband's face actually got redder.  He sputtered back, "This is the first time we have ever had a problem with this."  He was rewarded with another disinterested shrug.  Meanwhile the R.A., who had begun eating his long awaited for chicken nuggets and fries was taken aback when they were scooped up by husband.  Both the R.A. and I were so stunned (for different reasons) that neither of us uttered a sound.  As my husband's face was getting redder by the nano second and the R.A.'s shock would be quickly fading and no doubt replaced by shrieks, I thought it best to get the hell out of Dodge.

Seeing that my husband's face was now a lovely shade of puce I insisted that I would discuss the matter with the manager and instructed my husband to take the R.A. out to the car.  If I hadn't been so flustered I would have instructed him to sit the R.A. down at the crabby couple's table.  "It's Autism Awareness Month, Haters!  Consider yourself made aware!  Shut up and pass the ketchup!"

Fortunately I was still in shock so I appeared calm.  Strangely enough, in moments of crisis people tend to remark at how composed I am.  I'm not composed -  I'm usually suffering from amazement and attempting to process what has transpired.  I'm just lucky that I don't have a "What the hell just happened?" expression on my face that mirrors what I'm thinking.

I marched over to the manager and explained what had happened.  Instead of ranting I decided that I would use the opportunity as one to educate a "civilian" about autism. I spoke calmly and rationally about what a disappointment our treatment had been and how staff needed training in serving special needs families.  I must say I sounded pretty good -  like something from an "Autism Speaks" PSA.  The manager appeared almost interested.  He did successfully stifle a yawn a couple of times.  I think it was only the fear of being bored to death that made him finally say, "You can stay," which only further illustrated that he just didn't get "it."  I had just finished explaining that we had to remove a highly upset autistic kid from the restaurant and now he wanted us to bring said kid back?  At that point I was tired of talking to him and I shrugged and left.

Once we got home I did send a very calm e-mail to Pizza Shack's corporate office.  As of this writing I still have not heard back. 

Apparently, my complaint about the treatment of Special Needs families by Pizza Shack is not one they consider important enough to acknowledge.  Therefore, I propose we make them aware of the importance and stage an all out "Autism Awareness" dine in.  We bombard Pizza Shack restaurants with our family members on the spectrum.  We go without our survival kits (i.e. - backpacks and lunch bags loaded with acceptable activities and foods.)  We sit anywhere they sit us and don't make a peep about better seating options that will decrease our ASD kids having an episode and disturbing other diners.  I even propose we let the ASD kids with dairy allergies eat the pizza and let the vomit fall where it may.

WE WILL NOT BE IGNORED!  WE'RE HERE!  WE'RE NOT MAKING EYE CONTACT!  GET USED TO IT!

Happy Autism Awareness Month, Pizza Shack.  May the Kitchen God have mercy on you.