I think any kid would be forgiven for having a “coffee coffee coffee” moment at Toys R Us, especially since that is one of the few places where out of control kids are actually cute.
tdn, this may be a generational thing. My parents never gave me anything other than a swat on the rear (and that only a dozen or so times), but they reserved the right to go all Mr Gower on my ass if I ever used “fuck” infront of them. That right was also transferable to pretty much any other adult, by the way.
I said “Fuck Off” to my mother once.
I never saw the back of her hand coming.
Funny story. One time my mom was watching the grandkids and they started arguing. My mom made them sit on seperate sides of the room and to be quiet. She had her back to them as she was at the computer…
Daughter: GRANDMA Joe gave me the middle finger
Son: NO, I didn’t
Daughter: Yes he did
Son: No, I didn’t
Daughter: Yes, you did
Son: I don’t even know what that means
Daughter: Yes you do
Son: Well I know what the “F” means but not the “U”
My mom said it was all she could do to not crack up laughing. I doubt he even knew what the “F” meant.
He is nineteen now and I ask him now and then if he knows what the “U” means.
We really and truly had this argument. A direct quote from him: I didn’t choose to not have kids. Why is your choice more important than mine?
I’m weird. I think I should be allowed to do anything I want as long as I’m not bothering other people. But I expect the same from them.
:eek:
Stunning. Truly stunning. Did you have a comeback for him? Because I would be at a total loss for words.
The response to the dad with kids ruining the expensive dinner is simple. My choice isn’t raising hell in this restaurant, your’s is.
Eventually I stopped discussing it. It was clear we see the world very differently.
The part that makes it even more stunning for me is that he feels it would be wrong for me to play a radio loudly. For him there is a difference.
Ah, I see my fans are calling. 
Director’s cut edition, with extended finale!
They left huffily with the usual retorts of complaining to the manager’s boss and the general unfairness of it all.
The stern-faced manager, in a nicely done cameo, strode to the parents and informed them that their Little Rascals had been seen knocking over a DVD display, and that they were risking other customers’ safety and the safety of the kids by allowing them to run through the store unsupervised. Furthermore, as he finished his inspiring monologue, he declared that the store could not be held responsible for the safety of their children, and that the decidedly foul language the kids were using (Director’s commentary: I personally thought that was an exaggeration. I really only heard one of the kids curse, one time, but then again, we encourage our talent to be creative and ad-lib on occasion. Back to the performance.) was not acceptable and was disturbing the other customers. He then informed them they would need to gather up their three Mini-Me replicas and leave the premises.
Clueless Mom, with a scowl on her face worthy of Bette Davis, attempted to jerk the space-shuttle sized stroller forward in an attempt to show defiance and prove that they didn’t really want to be in that crappy store anyway, and only succeeded in tipping over the sippy cup that had been precariously perched on the handlebars. For, you see, she hadn’t released the wheel levers that would allow the stroller wheels to roll forward. (Director’s commentary: She took care to push down the levers on the wheels of the stroller to prevent it from rolling away, but yet took no precautions to secure her children from rolling away. Back to the performance.)
Bending down, she retrieved the errant sippy cup and threw it into the seat of the stroller as Clueless Dad bellowed out for the errant children to gather round so they could “get out of this place”. I marveled that her costume, which consisted of skintight shorts that appeared to have been painted on three sizes too small, didn’t split along the backseam when she bent over from the waist. (Director’s commentary: Luckily, although the climactic scene was threatened by a wardrobe malfunction, we made it through without incident.)
Clueless Dad, with his face hanging out, badly in need of a makeup touch-up, mentioned something along the lines of, “I bet your Corporate Offices would like to know you are driving away their business and families like us pay your salary.” (Director’s commentary: This is my nomination for the Academy Award’s Stupidest Line Ever.)
As the giant War of the Worlds Tripod alien bellowed again, his mini-minions answered his bidding, amazingly, and by that time Clueless Mom had recalled the workings of the stroller, and they positively exuded an air of cluelessness as they huffily vacated the store.
::closing credits::
Wait, I forgot to throw a hissy fit at the beginning and ask what my motivation was! Is it too late?
[ex amusement park operations supervisor hat on]
The mistake you make here is assuming the parents actually give a flying fuck, IME that solution is about 40% effective.
Even in places like amusement parks that you expect occasional manic child screechy outbursts, there are limits, most of them involving safety but plenty of just apeshit meltdown stuff. Usually with just about any major disruption of this nature we only warned once. They were told then that if the disturbance did not cease they would be ejected from the property. Amazingly enough, dozens of families in the ten years I was there found themselves getting their group ejected for disruptive and or royally obnoxious behavior on the part of the children who for the large part were being enabled by the parent the whole way out the door. Some of the worst offenders involved small children (like age 4-6) literally assaulting other kids for arcade tokens or ride tickets.
If you get a chance for a remake, have the patrons in the store start clapping as the family leaves and ask the manager for a piece of paper right there so you can write the corporate offices and commend him for retaining the customers that matter (make sure Dad hears).
(snip)
Ah but in today’s society of pwecious pwecious snowflakes, no doubt my righteous indignation and terrible wrath would have earned me a trip to jail for daring to lay hands on a child. Further, by the end of the encounter I’ve not the least doubt that I would have been mutated into a sexual predator and the child a hero for telling me off. This would all be follwed by intensive media coverage until I recieved the death penalty for a stern correction to vulgar behaviour by a mobile cum-stain.
If my story is ever adapted for film, I wish to be played by Bruce Campbell.
When I see a pet accompanied by bad, loud kids and a clueless parent, I refuse to raise my voice in order to be heard. I speak in a normal tone and volume. If the parent cannot hear me, it is amazing how often they ask me to repeat what I’ve said without telling the kids to quiet down. I am willing to repeat myself, but I will not shout.
In one circumstance, the father finally screamed, “WOULD YOU SHUT THE FUCK UP” to his circa 8 and 10 year olds.
How Men Cope With Being Cast as Predators.
The article is all to true. You can’t be around kids without feeling somebodies going to report you because you touched a kid. It’s about the same as being a lone with a women. You always think I’m screwed if the person decides to lie, because your a guy, so you’re instantly a molester.
Nobody…I mean NOBODY can insult people like the teeming millions.
Many years ago I worked at a clinic where we had a regular client who came in where her unruly child, who was about 5 or 6. He was old enough to know how to behave. Whenever they came in he’d take all the pamphlets and magazines in the waiting room and strew them all over. He even got into the closed cabinet we kept extra pamphlets in threw them all over the place. All the while mom doesn’t seem to notice. If we said anything she’d not even look at the child and quietly and meekly say “Kyle, don’t do that.” But he would continue.
On one visit we had recently acquired a new walk on scale that was in the waiting room. It was a bit sensitive in that if you stood on it on the edges the base would pop off and then you’d have to reposition it, snap it back on and recalibrate it. Well, little Kyle starts jumping up and down on it. So I looked into the waiting room and I said as nicely as possible how we just got that scale and it was very delicate and did mommy have $500 to replace it when he broke it? “KYLE!GET OFF THAT!” Then she got up and grabbed him by the arm and made him sit down. I didn’t think she could reach that volume and the actual discipline shocked the hell out of little Kyle.
Hit the parents in the pocket and they might do something to control their parents.
One day I would like to try this scenario. When some little brats start running around and come close to running into me I will intentionally fall down and start screaming “My hip! They knocked me down and I think they broke my hip!” Where are their parents? I need to get their names so I can sue them for everything they’ve got!" Then I’d like to see how fast they clear out of the store.
This is unspeakably sad. 
It is also the singular reason that I’ve decided not to teach. For a long while I kicked around the idea of becoming an art teacher. After the last couple of years, I get nervous walking by a playground. I like watching kids play but I can’t stand the glares of the mothers. :mad:
I must say that I’m surprised at the number of people who claim that they would not have survived if they’d ever told their parents to “fuck off.” No way would my mom and dad have killed me for simply speaking my mind.
OK, so it might’ve taken some time to learn to live with my face repositioned on the back side of my head.
And shoved up my ass.
But they would never have actually killed me!
I didn’t chose not to kick you in the head? Why should that choice be less important than your choice not to be kicked in the head?
The clapping has to start with one person clapping very slowly before everyone else joins in.
Mine would probably have let me have some tobasco sauce to go with the bar of soap I was eating.