I have always been appalled by children with atrocious behavior in public.
Look, even before I was a parent, I understood that no conscious child will be an angel every minute of the time they’re in public. I know that. Kids will be bad.
And by the way, please don’t jump down my throat for making that statement. I am unapologetic. I will repeat myself: kids will be bad. I’ll even expand: humans will be bad. It’s a fact of life, so don’t get your feelings hurt over a three letter word. People are jerks.
But kids–kids will not listen, kids will snatch, kids will steal, kids will throw screaming fits while bashing their skulls bloody on the concrete. It happens. I know this, and when these things happen, as long as the parent is not being abusive, I give the commiseration face.
Oh, come on. We all have a commiseration face. It’s that half-smirky one with a shrug that says no, I don’t know how we survived without our parents killing us either. If you haven’t given that face at least once in your life, I’ll bet you’re a real drag at parties. You probably send your salad back because the capers on the side were on the same plate. Yeah. I’m on to you.
But a line does exist, and it’s when that line is crossed that commiseration disappears, to be replaced by shock and disgust.
About two hours ago, I waited in line at a popular dog-mascotted chicken-stripped restaurant in the food court, just trying to get an ice refill. It’s hot standing under those skylights all day, y’all.
As I waited, a small child, four-ish, decided that these help-yourself cups of straws belonged to this counter. That decision was not hers to make. Another patron returned the first cup. As the cups were returned to their rightful counter, the employee pulled them back, out of the little girl’s reach. I returned the second and third, taking the last gently from her grubby little grasp.
“No, sweetie, these stay here.”
I was dumbfounded. Flabbergasted. I was at a loss for words. I wasn’t sure I’d heard her correctly.
At that moment, my mind abruptly switched into valley girl mode. Like, seriously? She said that. She totally told me to shut up. Oh em gee! What do I do?
I went with nothing.
She continued her cup-snatching ways, modified into bear hugging one cup while she circled those of us in line. Finally, she moved on to harass the other end of the counter, which was fortunately a straw-free zone.
Throughout the entire episode, her mother completely ignored her, hands on a double stroller, jaw going ninety-to-nothing chatting with her adult female companion. I don’t know which was the heathen child’s mother, but I promise you, they were identically posed and jabbering.
Ah! My turn at the counter. It was a girl I see almost every day I work, since I tend to consume numerous refills of ice with my water during a shift.
“Oh, you’re welcome. Did you hear her tell me to shut up?”
She nodded, seemingly as confused as I was, and thanked me again. I told her to have a good night. She responded in kind.
We both meant it. False, hollow have-a-good-nights are nearly as rude as repeatedly telling a complete stranger to shut up.
It just isn’t done, darling.
I had a bit of a chat yesterday morning with a friend who moved away a few years ago, and when she asked me how I was doing, I was able to say, in all honesty, ‘pretty well, actually.’
Now, when anyone asks me that question, I really do give it serious thought, but my answer always depends on whether or not the asker really give two bits about how I am. I don’t ask unless I want to hear your answer, but the question itself has become such a standardized greeting, in retail, for example, that it doesn’t necessarily call for a real response. Instead of ‘Hi!/Hi!,’ it’s ‘How are you?/Fine, how are you?’ Pet peeve of mine.
But yes, pretty well, actually. I’ve come to terms with a lot more lately than I ever have. I’ve been able to finally find the right words to explain some things to my husband that he never quite got before. I’ve really and truly been able to take it one day at a time, or less, if need be. And even though I decided at the last minute to sit NaNoWriMo out, I’ve come to believe that yes, there really is a book in there after all.
Maybe I’m on a high because we leave tomorrow for my mom’s. She should still be feeling half decent from her last round of treatment, so that’s good. It should be a good trip.
The only real dark spots on an otherwise reasonably bright and shining excerpt of my life are my worries and concerns for the wonderful friends I’ve made here who are having their own troubling times; from a sick mom, to a sick brother, to maddening waits, to sisters popping out babies like they’re going out of style. I love you gals, and I just wish I could protect you from all the things out there that make you sad. If I’m doing better, I should be able to do something for you. I hope it all works out okay, and nobody’s brain breaks.
How are you doing?