Get ready for unsolicited parenting advice.

I'm always hesitant to dole out advice on situations to which I have little to no experience.

That being said, I'm gonna do it anyway. It's just gone too far. This is a two-parter. Here's the story - I'll give you the advice next.

Why do I get to dole out unsolicited parenting advice?

I'm owed.

Scene: the coffee house. I live within a 6 block radius of no less than seven coffee shops. I love them, I can people-watch, get work done, get a fix of caffeine, relax and maybe even meet new people. But occasionally, strike that, WAY too often, it becomes a place where bad parents just CONGREGATE. With children in tow.

I've done what I can do. I've shot dirty looks - looks of which children ignore, and moms pretend not to even see. I've packed up my stuff and left. I've tried other coffee shops - but nothing is sacred. I've even complained to staff - who really just can't do anything. Most of the time, they actually would love to be able to do something, but you have to understand something. For some reason, there are a lot of parents out there who think that they get a free pass on bad behavior - be it their own or of their offspring - just because they happened to have shit out a few kids.

I point to my experience this past November.

I was trying to get my business running and off the ground. Having just moved into my current place, Comcast was dragging their feet about setting up internet service. So I went to a coffee shop in the Bella Vista area that had free WiFi service.

In comes Mom One with Baby.
In comes a polo-shirt clad ball of energy, about five years old and in need of attention.
In comes another.
And another.
Finally, in comes two more moms, toting two more strollers. Are there really babies in there or are they just really large purses? I don't know.

Polo Thing One jumps out and grabs a freshly-baked muffin from the plate on the counter. Mom says no and PUTS IT BACK. It's an unwrapped item. Guess I'm not getting a muffin. Thing One and Two have zero volume control. Oh wait, they do. They cry louder.

Mom Two asks if they sell juice. No, they don't. All three moms look at the barista like he has suggested that their children go to the nursery staffed by Susan Smith or some other baby-killer. After treating the barista like he's only paid to take rich women's crap, they get their coffee drinks with names longer than most complex chemical compounds. The children, who have been running amok throughout the tiny coffee house, cry because they're...I don't know...probably just to hear themselves cry. The moms have no desire to pay any attention to any of the six children that are climbing the walls. The moms sit down to "chat". By "chat", I mean that they can not possibly keep a conversation in a formerly peaceful place at a decibel level that does not exceed jet-engine sounds.

The children are everywhere.

One comes up to me, and looking over my shoulder, proceeds to breathe his germs all over me.

"Can I play Disney on the computer?"

"What?? I'm working, kid. GO AWAY."

No, I didn't really say that. I just sat there and finally said "I'm sorry, I don't have Disney on my computer."

"Yes you do, you have our computer."

I realize that children see that little Apple on my iBook and think that my computer is their computer because there's one like it at home. But since my iBook is three years old and has been used only two days before by my roommate and myself when we decided to figure out exactly what that whole "2 Girls 1 Cup" internet sensation was about, I was in no mood to expose young minds to the most disturbing stuff even I have ever seen. I politely looked up for their mothers.

"Ma'am? Is he yours?"

"TRISTAN. Get over here and sit down, that lady doesn't want you over there."

Thanks for making me look like the Evil Witch, lady. But I don't care. Tristan is like jumping on my table by now. He goes over to his mom, sits down to have one sip of his Jolt Cola (I kid you not) and proceeds to jump up and all over someone else. They leave me alone for a few minutes. Then, at the door to the shop, a woman in a wheelchair tries to enter. Since three strollers block her access, I, being a Good Samaritan, get up to help her. This coffee shop is all of the size of a walk-in closet. There's not space for the strollers and the wheelchair. It's a nice, warm Autumn day. Since old Philadelphia buildings and streets are - I don't know, NOT handicapped accessible - I figured it's what we owe as good citizens to help them out. I politely asked the moms if they would mind finding another space for the strollers. There's a big sidewalk outside, and a spot perfectly suited to corral them.

And then they look at me like I have three heads.

Mom two: "Those are BUGABOO FROG strollers, which cost $900. Someone's going to STEAL them in THIS neighborhood."

Oh no you dih-en.

Soapbox out, Molly up.

"Well, that's a pretty expensive...stroller...but I'm only asking because it's obvious that them plus this woman's chair are not going to fit in here. It's a very narrow space and she has every right to patronize this store. I don't know if you know this, but if you're concerned about the security, any bicycle shop will happily sell you a LOCK to protect it should you choose to leave it in a more convenient spot. And by they way, I live and work in this neighborhood. No one's ever stolen anything from me in THIS neighborhood. And though I'm straight, it's actually the Gayborhood, which, despite having a few diverse residents, actually has the lowest crime rate in Philadelphia County. If you don't want to move them, then fine. But should you care to tear yourself away from your conversation and be considerate, I'm sure you might get a little good Karma coming your way."

Three snaps in a Z for-ma-tion.

Mom two folds the strollers and puts them in the stairwell. We mighta had to had the same conversation should anyone have to go up or down the stairs, but whatever.

The woman in the wheelchair thanks me (she's still laughing, as is the barista) and gets her cup of coffee and a bagel. I go back to work. Moms go back to loud conversing. The kids have never stopped running around. I deal. I get up to ask the barista for a pen. And then the worst that could happen...yep, it happens.

Tristan jumps out of nowhere into my seat and onto my computer. I catch it out of the corner of my eye - my coffee cup, suddenly caught by the coloring book in his hand. I leap forward to catch something - anything - from the inevitable. But no.

Coffee. All over the laptop. A two-thousand dollar computer, ruined.

Yes, I picked him up by the arm and put him down AWAY from my computer. I needed to frantically disassemble all that I could to get the coffee out of the computer. Yes, he screams. Obviously the stranger-danger lessons kicked in JUST then. I don't know if he got coffee spilled on him, and frankly, I do not care. But MOM does.

"WHY are you touching MY CHILD? He was JUST TRYING TO PLAY and BE NICE. You shouldn't have left a HOT COFFEE where it could BURN SOMEONE"

Screw the soapbox, I'm on a tirade, and tears are already coming out - I had no money to replace this computer.

"THIS IS A COFFEEHOUSE. They serve COFFEE here, and we Americans like our coffee HOT. You need to WATCH your damn children, HE just RUINED my ONLY computer."

Barista quickly helps me as best he can, even giving me tools to minimize the damage. But it's done. The iBook never worked again, even after a hard-drive replacement.

Now, you may ask, wouldn't the mom offer to pay for it? Um, I would. Legally, she has to. But she was outta that place, kids in tow, faster than...oh I don't know, some stupid bitch who realized that her kid had done some serious damage.

So I figure I'm allowed to give some unsolicited advice.

Stay tuned.