I am near tears with anger, frustration and more anger again.  We found a restaurant, my husband and I, and we discussed with the owner our frustration at our inability to go out for dinner with our son due to his celiac diagnosis.

She got it.  She really did.  She was sympathetic, she made all the right noises, she boasted of her kitchen prep methods, and her separate cutting board.  Her food was delicious, and naturally halfway to GF anyways.  She sparked a hope in us, a glimmer that she would take care of us, that she would get it.  She would.  Did I mention the food was delicious?

No. She. Fucking. Didn’t. Get. It.

We took a chance, tonight, to go out together as a family.  We went to our local North Burnaby Greek family restaurant, brimming with hope and the promise of a paid-for -not-made-for-meal with our children.  A chance to feel like every other human that thoughtlessly walks into any restaurant on any corner and orders anything, regardless of dietary, allergy or lifestyle considerations.

Appies were incredible, and we ordered double.  The kids devoured everything that was put in front of them.  They killed it.

And then came the mains.

A’s roasted lamb shoulder came plated with fries, that were previously established as NOT from a dedicated fryer.  I turned to the server and politely and respectfully asked that it be re-done, and simply not RE-PLATED.   We were willing to wait.  We got it.  We were willing to wait for and pay for good and safe food.

Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

My son got halfway through the meal when I spied an errant fry (from the previously aforementioned NOT gluten-free fryer) and although I quickly stabbed the fry, the damage was done.

I flagged the server, who flagged the owner, who came over and reiterated that they were super safe and super understanding. I reiterated that I had SAID SPECIFICALLY NOT TO JUST RE-FUCKING-PLATE the food.

Then, she got mad.  She looked at me and said that she would pick up our dinner but that we were to not come back, and that we were no longer welcome as she couldn’t accommodate us.

Let that sink in.

We got kicked out of a family restaurant due to DIETARY CONSIDERATIONS.

Seriously?

And yes, I am still mad, and still WRITING IN ALL CAPS.

I am furious.  I am worried about my son, and his reaction.  I am already terrified about approaching new restaurants and new locations, knowing inherently that NO, they DON’T GET IT.   And they never will.  And that even if I advocate for my child, and verbalize, and vocalize and reiterate until I am blue in my face, it still may make no difference.  And he will still get sick.  And he will still open himself up to major additional long-term health risks and concerns.

And we will still end up rushing home as a family, in order to get him to the appropriate facilities and liters of water to flush everything out of his system.

I wonder if we would have a human rights complaint if we had insisted on paying.  As it was, we were made to feel like such fucking pariahs that we simply left.

Fuck.

The words are leaving me, yet the anger remains.  In the meantime, I need to go make a cheese quesadilla (GF, of course) for my son who just left his dinner in the bathroom of the biased restaurant who kicked out a young family just because they fucked up and made my son sick.