Idiot Parents

Attention to all parents with very active offspring!

No, not you skilled and/or harried herders of the next generation of homo sapiens, who have skipped meals and eating out when your offspring fails to maintain self-control. You’re fine. Kids need the chance to practice, and you obviously recognize that there are designated areas for child exhuberance and high-energy release. You also recognize that a grocery store or food establishment (barring those dedicated to children) is NOT one of those designated areas and requires a modicum of balanced behavior in one’s conduct. It is my pleasure to smile tolerantly and with understanding as you train or discipline your child in the manner of acceptable public activity, or remove your misbehaving child to a more appropriate location as needed. I tip my hat to you and will gladly hold the door for you, while you look after your child’s safety and that of the people around you.

I’m talking to the so-called adults responsible for producing the little villains spreading crushed chips and apple juice all over the floor around the cash register. Or the bratlings running up and down the aisles screaming, yelling, and throwing things off of shelves.

Yes, you.

Especially you who think it is my responsibility to put up with your offsprings’ atrocious behavior, because, “he/she is just a child!”

You, sir or ma’am, are a thoughtless, selfish, jerk who shouldn’t have been allowed to reproduce.

I’ve got some sad news for you: Your child is your responsibility. Not mine. Yours. Because I assure you that if little precious becomes my responsibility, I will remove said offensive brat from the premesis with great alacrity and judicious application of appropriate reminders that little men and little women will BEHAVE in public.

You do NOT have the right to impose your family’s history of self-indulgent, histrionic, screeching, tantrums, and inflicting harm to body and property on others. You do NOT have the right to permit your spawn to disrupt or disturb me except as required by basic courtesy – such as a polite, “Excuse me,” while you drag your out-of-control hellspawn out of said public eating establishment and to your transportation vehicle (or other semi-private location) for a quick and appropriate lesson of how little men and little women will BEHAVE in public.

So don’t be surprised when, after your hellspawn dumps my tray of food on the floor, I walk over to your table, wait patiently for you stop yakking into your high tech brain replacement communication device and actually NOTICE the DAMAGE that your offspring is causing, and pour my 16 oz. caffeinated sugarwater in your lap and purse when you fail to close your yap and act like an adult. That’s called consequences. See, you are RESPONSIBLE for your hellspawn’s behavior, and the consequences of little master or miss wonderful’s actions. Your lack of basic attention to your offspring’s safety also means the consequences can be quite severe.

I can also pile the now inedible food that your pampered, over-indulged, ill-trained dogling wrecked, and ceremoniously bestow it upon you, the new owner. Dreadfully sorry about your food, though. But I do hate to ruin perfectly good food, so I am loathe to do this.

Or I can announce to the establishment at large about how wonderful it is that you are allowing your child to destroy the restaurant’s property, aggravate its patrons, and otherwise show what an ass you are. I don’t often get to use my oratory skills. I was quite good at Debate in college, and my voice carries well. I find that publicly pointing out what a mean, venal, lowly, maggot-brained twit you are will often have the desired effect of embarrassing you into leaving. I can also drown you out your usual incoherent shrieking. Personally, I’d rather not be so rude to the other patrons myself, but this method is less likely to result in physical violence for both of us, so it is my preferred way.

Your choice.

However it goes, you WILL get your misbegotten, out-of-control, untrained, bastardized little terror away from me.

Oh, don’t even try that line of, “Do you have children?” It is pathetic and makes you look more stupid. I’ve hauled more squalling and bawling brats, ostensibly members of my own genetic line either by marriage or biology, back out to the car, while my companion tries to enjoy what’s left of a ruined evening out, than you have. Obviously.

Grow up or your brat will beat you to it.

3 Responses to “Idiot Parents”

  1. PookahBoss says:

    Oh, no. I like both kinds of clubs. So long as I can club the idiots – including myself when I act the idiot – over the head, I’ll gladly join!

  2. Ricë says:

    we need a club so we can take back the world. i meant “club,” as in “organization,” but the other kind wouldn’t be a bad idea, either. something to defend ourselves from the hoards running amok.

  3. Romilly says:

    The feeling seems to be going around recently:

    What DID happen to “civil society”?

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