Restaurants lead to traumatic childhood experiences

It's one thing to sit in a hundred square foot buffet with about fifty serving staff and seating for ten more than the serving staff. And then there's that one restaurant that's about a thousand square feet and has seating for fifteen times more people than the serving staff which number about a hundred. Most of them were poorly dressed, probably paid minimum wage, and couldn't speak English well. So there was a communication barrier in some instances with them like when this happened.

waiter: So what driss you want?
us: Uh, could you repeat that, please?
waiter: What dress do you want?
us: I'm afraid that I don't understand. Could you repeat this?
waiter: What dress do you want?
father: I don't get it....
mother: I think she means what dressing do you want.
father:But honey, we're in a buffet.
mother: Well, are you saying dressing?
waiter: No, what dress do you want?
us: You mean drinks?
waiter: No, dress!
us: Three waters please.
waiter: ok

It took us a while to figure out what she was saying. Dress doesn't sound anything like drinks, no offense. To make matters worse, We're sitting across from a group of ghetto gangster wannabes. The type who think it's cool to swear every minute and have their pants hanging down at their knees and burp with gusto. So while they're being all gangster-ish, I'm cringing in the corner wincing with every word coming out of their mouth and praying for someone from above to GET ME OUT OF THIS PLACE.
But my folks being as oblivious to this as they are keep eating and laughing and joking, not noticing that I'm visibly paling with nervousness and apprehension. We had come in during rush hour on a weekend eve, with their seating for a thousand completely filled up and a crowd of milling people around the desk numbering about thirty plus. And some sat on the edge of a big wishing pond complete with running water and dead fish. The bottom was covered in coins that had probably been thrown in there by employees hoping for a raise. And then there were the kids who liked dipping their hands into the water and disturbing the motionless fish to make them move and look like they were alive for their entertainment. But I digress. The poor waiters had to provide loaves and fishes for the multitudes and it was in plentiful. And the smell was overwhelming.

Scarred? Yes. For life? Most definitely.

Did you have any such traumatic experiences as a child?