Tuesday, August 8, 2017

Even Steven, That Rogue!

On the heels of the feel-good story about today's youth yesterday, namely that young man who took my cart back at Save A Lot...we have today's example.

Gas station chicken store. 12:15 p.m. I walked in to get my daily 44 oz Diet Coke. As I entered, a young blond boy was prancing at the counter. He galloped into my path, screeched to a halt, and continued screeching nonsense at he watched me pass down the candy aisle to go around the end and get to the soda fountain. Because Screechy had the path blocked.

I gave Screechy the Teacher Stink-Eye. Believe you me, people, I perfected that look my very first year of my 28-year career. Screechy looked at me for a split second, his blue six-year-old eyes wide, then commenced the galloping and nonsense screeching again. I couldn't quite figure out who he belonged to. There was a fake-blond tall woman at the soda fountain, who vacated the area as I rounded the end by the beer cooler. And a dark-haired woman paying for burritos at the counter. And a fit-fat bald man standing in line, and a dark-haired man also at the counter.

You know, sometimes kids can't help it. That's what the teacher in me tried to tell my curmudgeonly self. Although my initial thought was: "How much sugar did you GIVE that boy?" Perhaps Screechy was late for his ADHD meds. Or perhaps he was on the special spectrum, and didn't really know what he was doing in my world, knowing that his antics were perfectly acceptable in his. Sometimes, it's not their fault. So I tried not to let the Teacher Stink-Eye loose again until I could process more information.

I was last in the line of all people in the store at that time. No big deal. No particular place to go, no particular time to be there. I held my 44 oz Diet Coke in one hand, my $50 scratch-off winner in the other. The dark-haired lady pain the Man Owner, who was working the counter. Then the dark-haired man paid for a bottle of flavored water.

"My son has found something that he likes. So we get it." That's when I noticed that as the four of them were conversing, they were doing so in another language. And their English had a heavy accent. I don't know my accents unless they're domestic. I don't know much about foreign languages. I was going to assume a German accent, perhaps. Or French. I know they're not similar. But the first I heard of it, Screechy was speaking. It was very fast, and I thought the might have a made-up language.

Anyhoo...maybe that behavior is acceptable in their native country. No adult made a move to correct the youngster. In fact, they seemed to dote on him.

I, myself, did not.

6 comments:

Sioux Roslawski said...

HM--What does "fit-fat" mean?

Hillbilly Mom said...

Sioux,
It means the guy was kind of large, and might have been considered portly, but he was muscular. Does that make sense? Not muscular in a body-builder kind of way, but not portly in a dough-boy kind of way. Looked fat, but fit.

fishducky said...

German & French sound alike to you?

Hillbilly Mom said...

fishducky,
Not if I'm consciously trying to figure it out, and not if I have peace without a SCREECHING child to distract me. German is the closest to English, you know. Newmentia used to teach it as their foreign language, rather than French or Spanish, because they just happened to have a teacher who spoke it.

However...I did not discern either one in this situation. Maybe it was a totally different language! Maybe they were the descendants of NELL, as played by Jodie Foster.

Kathy's Klothesline said...

I know all too well about the screechy, grabby brats of the world. The thing is, if they make enough of a scene, the parent will relent and just buy what they want. A sort of blackmail. If you tell your child "NO", then stick to it. They will make a scene, for sure, but just drag them out and keep on doing that until they learn that it will not work. If you start young enough, you won't be subjected to it later on. It is called discipline. Okay, I am done.

Hillbilly Mom said...

Kathy,
I did that one time to the #1 son, when he was 2 or 3. I left the cart right there in the Devil's Playground aisle, and took him out and plopped him in his car seat in the back of our Ford Aerostar van. He had a FIT! He got a lecture, and we went home.

He was always a strong-willed child. But pretty smart. All I ever had to do again was say, "Do we need to go to the car?" And he'd straighten right up.

I also did the same thing when the boys were around 7-10, when they kept arguing in the McDonald's drive-thru. Pulled right out of line and went home. They were LIVID. But...I never had to do it again.