I Love Children--They Taste Just Like Chicken!
I just got back from the laundromat. Yes, I still wash my clothes at a laundromat. It's not easy living the glamorous life I do.
Laundromats are notorious for containing lots and lots of children. In general, I like children fine, but I was tired after my day at work, and this particular laundromat attracts the sort of preoccupied parents that let their kids run wild. And they were. Running all around, up and down the aisles, bumping into those baskets on wheels...screaming, too. Did I mention that? Yeah--music to my fucking ears.
Well, kids will be kids, and we DO live in a big city where kids don't exactly have big yards to play in (and in this neighborhood, I don't know if I'd want them outside that often, anyway). So I understand the need to release the pent-up energy. What I do NOT understand is why these parents do not intervene when their children start misbehaving. At one point, this little girl (she was probably about four years old) kept opening my dryer door, which of course makes the dryer stop. Which makes the clothes not dry. But which doesn't stop the timer from pissing your money away. Fortunately, I saw her do it and was able to shut it again right away. I made protesting noises, because I didn't want to tell a four-year-old to fuck off. I shut the door fairly hard, hoping the little heifer would get the message. (Bearing in mind, this is the same kid who's been running into carts, not watching where she's going, screaming and playing with things that don't belong to her the whole time.)
No, she started playing with the door again almost immediately. Finally I stood by the door until she got bored and ran off to cause trouble somewhere else with some other bratty kid, then went back to reading my Agatha Christie book ("The Sittaford Mystery," which isn't a mystery to me, since I already know who murdered Captain Trevelyan, but these things are fun to read over again occasionally for the details of when they were written).
But I digress. What WAS a mystery to me was where her parents were during all this. Apparently, they don't think it's their job to monitor their kids' behavior. And I happen to know that BOTH the parents were there, too, so it's not like one of them couldn't have kept an eye on little Rhoda while the other folded the underwear or something. But no, they don't see any need. They've listened too hard to Hillary Clinton tell them it "takes a village" to raise their kids.
Fine. Here's a little tip: if I'm helping raise 'em, I get spanking privileges. Period. I do remember being in the laundromat a few times with my mom when the washing machine broke down when I was little. If I so much as peeped, my mother told me the police were going to come get me. (I didn't even know who the police were back then--I was four myself). And as for running down the aisles, forget it. If I'd tried any such thing, I wouldn't have sat down for a month.
What kills me is that these same people with the ill-behaved children simply bridle if you so much as look sideways at the little bastards when they insist on running into you during their horseplay, knocking your things over. People SO resent having others even tacitly criticize their parenting skills. But, hey, if I'm part of "the village..."
Anyway, I'm LOTS easier to placate than Social Services will be. Shall I give them a call?
Laundromats are notorious for containing lots and lots of children. In general, I like children fine, but I was tired after my day at work, and this particular laundromat attracts the sort of preoccupied parents that let their kids run wild. And they were. Running all around, up and down the aisles, bumping into those baskets on wheels...screaming, too. Did I mention that? Yeah--music to my fucking ears.
Well, kids will be kids, and we DO live in a big city where kids don't exactly have big yards to play in (and in this neighborhood, I don't know if I'd want them outside that often, anyway). So I understand the need to release the pent-up energy. What I do NOT understand is why these parents do not intervene when their children start misbehaving. At one point, this little girl (she was probably about four years old) kept opening my dryer door, which of course makes the dryer stop. Which makes the clothes not dry. But which doesn't stop the timer from pissing your money away. Fortunately, I saw her do it and was able to shut it again right away. I made protesting noises, because I didn't want to tell a four-year-old to fuck off. I shut the door fairly hard, hoping the little heifer would get the message. (Bearing in mind, this is the same kid who's been running into carts, not watching where she's going, screaming and playing with things that don't belong to her the whole time.)
No, she started playing with the door again almost immediately. Finally I stood by the door until she got bored and ran off to cause trouble somewhere else with some other bratty kid, then went back to reading my Agatha Christie book ("The Sittaford Mystery," which isn't a mystery to me, since I already know who murdered Captain Trevelyan, but these things are fun to read over again occasionally for the details of when they were written).
But I digress. What WAS a mystery to me was where her parents were during all this. Apparently, they don't think it's their job to monitor their kids' behavior. And I happen to know that BOTH the parents were there, too, so it's not like one of them couldn't have kept an eye on little Rhoda while the other folded the underwear or something. But no, they don't see any need. They've listened too hard to Hillary Clinton tell them it "takes a village" to raise their kids.
Fine. Here's a little tip: if I'm helping raise 'em, I get spanking privileges. Period. I do remember being in the laundromat a few times with my mom when the washing machine broke down when I was little. If I so much as peeped, my mother told me the police were going to come get me. (I didn't even know who the police were back then--I was four myself). And as for running down the aisles, forget it. If I'd tried any such thing, I wouldn't have sat down for a month.
What kills me is that these same people with the ill-behaved children simply bridle if you so much as look sideways at the little bastards when they insist on running into you during their horseplay, knocking your things over. People SO resent having others even tacitly criticize their parenting skills. But, hey, if I'm part of "the village..."
Anyway, I'm LOTS easier to placate than Social Services will be. Shall I give them a call?
posted by Aaron at 9:13 PM
5 Comments:
Too bad my mom wasn't there...that lil darling and her parents would've gotten an education.
This comment has been removed by a blog administrator.
Send her up here! I'd just love to see the look on the Penmark family's face when she unloads on them...:-)
LOL...I think the look on your face might be worth more. She's a very scary lady!
I'm SO desensitized these days, you have no idea....it must be from living here too long. But I'll take your word for it...!
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