![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Entry tags:
No shit, there I was -
Getting my morning cup of joe. Joe Starbucks, that is. Corner store, they know me well and everything - been there a ton of times.
And of course, I'm in a hurry and need to get out of there as fast as I got in. Running behind again.
There's a line. It's a Starbucks, it's morning, there's a line.
Today, it has a Dad and two sons. Older one is 13 if I'm a day, probably 12 and 175 lbs and as tall as Dad. Younger brother is 9, I could give him 10...and 55 lbs dripping wet. Won't reach MY shoulder, let alone Dad's.
I peruse the baked goods. Pumpkin bread? Pumpkin scone? Thinking about pumpkin spice lattes...and then?
*smack*
What the -
Yup. Big brother just hit little brother. HARD. As I watched, he did it again. Dad? Did nothing. Ordered the drinks and stepped to the bar.
Meanwhile, younger is trying to give as good as he got, and made it very clear verbally to 'get your hands OFF me!' For his trouble, his brother punched him again. Ha ha.
Dad...did nothing. Did not even make eye contact with either kid. Got his hot drink and went to doctor it.
Then left the store.
The kids are alone, waiting for two blended drinks. Big kid looks up and gets The Glare.
You know this one. The 'I saw what you did there, you do it again while we BOTH know I don't like it and I am gonna SCREAM SO LOUD....' glare.
Oops. Waved a bit and folded his hands. Good boy.
One got a vanilla frapp, the other one got strawberry. Big kid's was better, little kid's was stupid. I know, I got the pleasure of following them out to their car, where Dad was sitting listening to the radio.
Out of state plates. Van conversion. What are the odds. My mind is weighing both kinds of stories.
Y'see, I know when the economy starts picking up - that's when the out of state plates start showing up here, looking for work. They've been doing that since the Great Depression. Whether they find anything or not is something else entirely -
The flip side is that people move here and to avoid paying registration fees and having to meet emission standards, they never change the plates.
There's no Mom. And Dad was so passive, one has to wonder what's going on. There was no iPod, no cell phone conversation. He was right there and did nothing.
So angry. I want both those kids. I want to hand both those kids to Jim and then take that Dad apart. I can understand a lot. I can listen to anything. But dammit, it's not even NINE O'CLOCK and you're TIRED? You're WHAT.
Send one of them outside. Do something. Oh, I got ideas, bucko.
You don't hit people - and you don't pick on someone smaller than you just for the ugly fun of it.
I seriously doubt I'll cross paths with them again. I can only hope that happens in a Starbucks with a cop in it. A few more minutes and this morning's store would have.
Welcome to the living room of America, these days. Honestly.
And of course, I'm in a hurry and need to get out of there as fast as I got in. Running behind again.
There's a line. It's a Starbucks, it's morning, there's a line.
Today, it has a Dad and two sons. Older one is 13 if I'm a day, probably 12 and 175 lbs and as tall as Dad. Younger brother is 9, I could give him 10...and 55 lbs dripping wet. Won't reach MY shoulder, let alone Dad's.
I peruse the baked goods. Pumpkin bread? Pumpkin scone? Thinking about pumpkin spice lattes...and then?
*smack*
What the -
Yup. Big brother just hit little brother. HARD. As I watched, he did it again. Dad? Did nothing. Ordered the drinks and stepped to the bar.
Meanwhile, younger is trying to give as good as he got, and made it very clear verbally to 'get your hands OFF me!' For his trouble, his brother punched him again. Ha ha.
Dad...did nothing. Did not even make eye contact with either kid. Got his hot drink and went to doctor it.
Then left the store.
The kids are alone, waiting for two blended drinks. Big kid looks up and gets The Glare.
You know this one. The 'I saw what you did there, you do it again while we BOTH know I don't like it and I am gonna SCREAM SO LOUD....' glare.
Oops. Waved a bit and folded his hands. Good boy.
One got a vanilla frapp, the other one got strawberry. Big kid's was better, little kid's was stupid. I know, I got the pleasure of following them out to their car, where Dad was sitting listening to the radio.
Out of state plates. Van conversion. What are the odds. My mind is weighing both kinds of stories.
Y'see, I know when the economy starts picking up - that's when the out of state plates start showing up here, looking for work. They've been doing that since the Great Depression. Whether they find anything or not is something else entirely -
The flip side is that people move here and to avoid paying registration fees and having to meet emission standards, they never change the plates.
There's no Mom. And Dad was so passive, one has to wonder what's going on. There was no iPod, no cell phone conversation. He was right there and did nothing.
So angry. I want both those kids. I want to hand both those kids to Jim and then take that Dad apart. I can understand a lot. I can listen to anything. But dammit, it's not even NINE O'CLOCK and you're TIRED? You're WHAT.
Send one of them outside. Do something. Oh, I got ideas, bucko.
You don't hit people - and you don't pick on someone smaller than you just for the ugly fun of it.
I seriously doubt I'll cross paths with them again. I can only hope that happens in a Starbucks with a cop in it. A few more minutes and this morning's store would have.
Welcome to the living room of America, these days. Honestly.