Friday, October 15, 2010

I wish she would just do something with that damn kid

The one good thing about nightshift is I can shop when there aren’t as many people, but the downside is I can’t shop ay my favorite store because it isn’t open all night. I hate the only one in range that is open, so sometimes I go to my favorite store, because they have good service and nice people.  Good service and nice people go further with me than a ten percent discount with some dead eyed zombie ringing me up with as much interest shown when buzzards die of boredom. Who can blame them? All day long all they hear is the beep of those machines as thousands and thousands of dollars pass in front of them, and they get a tiny percentage.
One day I want to have the money so I can pay someone to go buy food for me and bring it back. I want to go to a grocery store that has some moron parked sideways in the aisle and zap him back into the stone age so he can hunter and gather all he needs at any angle. I want a device that will instantly render useless any cell phone within a mile of me, so people will realize the space in the store has to be shared. As I was deciding on sharp versus very sharp cheddar a woman stepped directly in front of me and proceeded to list prices to someone on a cell phone. While she wasn’t looking I dropped a box of condoms in her cart.
The concept of group shopping escapes me. It wouldn’t be so bad were it organized a little better than a small band of drunken post apocalyptic meth heads with dyslexia but it is that bad, with each person bringing something to the cart already there, or not needed, or worse, forgetting what they went for in the first place. Shopping is like sex; more than two people are you’re going to have to start messing with the original concepts. Most people do not have what it takes to pull off either. Worse, it seems like no one is really sure what they should be doing, or why. Maybe I have shopped with the wrong group. I suspect some of these people are the results of the other group making poor decisions as well.
I don’t understand people who take their kids shopping with them. Sure, you may have to take the kids, but isn’t there some sort of electronic tracking devices, or five eight steel cables attached to tractable leashes? I know enough about child care to realize that duct tape, though effective, is not strictly legal even in Georgia. The people I know who have used it as some sort of child restraint have ostracized and I think it you tape a kid to a wall and them make a video if it, a day of reckoning will come, and you will not like it.
I decided a very long time ago never to marry, and to never have children. I deeply regret my one marriage, and if it was any indication how child rearing might go, it’s a good thing I tried marriage first. I deeply suspect the muttless people who offer me advice on how to train a dog are as welcome as I am in the child raising department. I’ve donated blood to this issue. I’ve been bitten, knocked down, trampled upon, and had a dog bring me a dead animal at three in the morning when I was asleep. If you haven’t raised dogs I’ll listen to what you have to say, and reject it utterly as being something read from a book or the perception of someone who hasn’t a clue as to what they are talking about. I suspect the kid people see my advice in the same light, so unless there is a child with a thermonuclear weapon in its mouth, I’m not getting involved.
You know those oversized carts that look like racing cars? What you wanna bet that a childless person, or someone who doesn’t like shopping invented those monsters? Slightly smaller than your average aircraft carrier vessel, these things carry kids, groceries, block an aisle just as effectively as a magnitude twenty-seven earth quake.

The place was packed today, but I got behind a woman with a few items, but the woman ahead of her had a gazillion things, coupons printed with crayons, and three small children, in a race car cart. The other lanes were filled so I decided to try to wait it out. Some of the coupons were invalid or outdated, and some were okay, but the woman was sure they were to be doubled on screaming children in a race car cart day. Someone else came in behind me so I was trapped, trapped like a rat with a lot of food. But things got worse because they had to get worse.
The race car cart mom with three kids, one an infant, was trying to pay with a buttload of coupons but it was made with some very large pieces of the fail. Some of the coupons wouldn’t scan, some were dated, and some where just plain wrong. Meanwhile, one of the kids had discovered the Satanic device some stores use in planting toys for sale near the checkout counter. One of the kids was bent of getting a race car that looked like the cart his siblings were trapped in. Mom said no, he pitched a fit, mom took the car away from him, but he went and got another. Mom, trying to find her credit card discovered it wasn’t where she left it. She took the next car away from the kid who started screaming. A kid in the cart was trying to reach over and get something when the first kid slammed his hand against the counter, by pushing the cart hard. Two screaming kids out of the three, a woman with a bushel basket of coupons not able to be processed, and she was on a cell trying to find out where her credit card was.
I started taking my stuff off the counter, and hoping I could back away from the crazy. The kid got another car and was screaming about it, the kid in the cart was screaming, and I wished, as hard as I could wish, that woman would just backhand the living shit out of that damn kid.
It was as unexpected as it was brutal. The woman did backhand the kid. She slapped him so hard to knocked him over, knocked him flat, and somewhere, in the silence, someone said, “Thank God!” The child sat on the floor and looked up at me, and then back at his mom, and never made another sound. The kid’s lip was bleeding but he never made a sound.

“Come on, let’s go.” The woman started trying to gather the kids, and she started crying. The kid she hit recoiled from her, and she had to reach down to get him. “Please come on.” And she got them, one by each hand, and one over her shoulder, and she fled the store.
“Why’d she bring those damn kids in here anyway?”
“She should have done that sooner.”
“My mama wouldn’t put up with that from me when I was that age.”
They bagged up the rest of her groceries, pushed them to one side in the giant cart and moved on. The woman in front of me didn’t say a word, and when I got up to the counter the cashier was having problems keeping it together. Maybe she’s been in those mama shoes when the kids all get crazy at once. Maybe she has been there when you haven’t got enough money, can’t find your card, and all hell is breaking loose around you, and some bald guy is standing there thinking you’re the world’s worst mom, ever. Maybe she too saw the look in that kid’s eyes.

Thankyouhaveanicedaypleasecomeagain” the cashier said, but I could tell she was trying to hold on.

In the parking lot, I looked for the woman, maybe she was sitting in her car, but she was gone, her kids gone, and any chance to might have done anything but stand there wishing she would just backhand that damn kid was gone, too, forever.

Take Care,
Mike

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