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This happened earlier this month – I’ve been running around like a chicken with my head cut off and didn’t have time to sit down and give this the long post it deserves, to go over the details. Trust me, it’s a good one.
Let me start this with a disclaimer – I like kids. I don’t have any desire to have any of my own in the foreseeable future, but I can certainly understand their appeal. I have nothing against kids, and am constantly surprised when they end up being so much smarter and insightful than people give them credit for.
The children that I hate are the ones that are smart enough to manipulate a weak willed parent – a kid who knows what he’s doing is wrong, and enjoys it – and will keep doing it because they know the parent isn’t going to do anything because the little angel is just being a kid.
Is there a set formula or checklist to tell if the little tyke has some sort of disability or is just an evil manipulating tyke? No. You just know.
So, onward to the story.
A mother walks in with her kid, who’s roughly 5 years old, if I had to guess. I see them coming up around the windows and she’s trying to get him to follow her, and he’s yelling at her. This is not a good sign, by itself.
She ends up bringing him in – she’s a very soft spoken woman, while the kid is a little terror.
What follows is Kusanagi’s guide to dealing with out of control children (And their parents)
Afterwards, it’s pretty much a play-by-ear that involves anything from staredowns to calling the police.
To give you an idea of how this child was behaving, we escalated to step 5 in less than 5 minutes. Running around, jumping on the furniture, standing on a table, and moving all the display knickknacks around or knocking them off on the floor. The mother didn’t do anything until I got to step 3. All she did was just say the kid’s name in a softspoken voice, more for my benefit than to actually do anything. As soon as the mother would look away, the kid would look at me, smile, and then go back to doing whatever it is he wanted to do.
The final straw that made my blood boil was what the kid did as the finale. He took one of the heavy Buddha statues we have (about 10 inches tall, with a square base that we put on the tables as displays) and started beating on the table with it. The sharp corner of the base dug into the table, leaving huge dents in the wood.
I yelled at the kid in a voice I’m sure he had never heard anyone use before. “HEY! KNOCK IT OFF!” The kid just freezes with huge eyes, the mother gets huge eyes, and I walk over and grab the statue out of the kid’s hand, while giving him a glare that could melt steel.
So now the mother decides to say something, and is toward her pweshus widdle aynjuwl? Of course not. It’s towards me for saying anything towards the aforementioned brat.
The mother start yelling at me about how dare I do that, blah blah blah. I was pissed, so I let her have it, both barrels blazing.
SC: How dare you yell at my son like that!
Me: I’ve asked both you and him multiple times to get under control. He’s being destructive and is causing damage. Get out.
SC: I’ll get you fired for yelling at him like that! You aren’t his parent!
Me: Well you certainly aren’t acting like one!
SC: I promise I’ll get you fired!
Me: Yeah, I’m sure. Come here for a second.
I took her over to the table, and showed her the GIGANTIC %#(@%@ DENTS in the table. (No kidding, this statue was heavy enough do put quarter inch dents in solid oak)
Me: Congratulations, you just bought a $500 table.
SC: No, I’m not paying for that!
Me: Okay, fine.
Then while she stares at me, I calmly walk over to the desk, grab a notepad and paper, and start to walk to the windows facing the parking lot.
SC: What do you think you’re doing?
Me: I’m writing down your vehicle information, along with the license plate number. I’m going to need it when I call the police to file the property damage report.
SC: You are not calling the police on me!
Me: (holding up the notebook) Watch me!
At this point, the brat is still just standing there, as it’s obvious that he might be starting to realize that the reason the two adults are going at it might have something to do with the deliberate fun and games he was playing with me and mommy dearest. He starts to yell for his mommy, and mommy, in a fit of rage over my actions, looks at him and yells even harsher than I did “shut up!”
Pweshus is first bewildered, then batsh*t enraged that his mother spoke to him like that, runs up, punches her in the stomach, and then tears out the front door at full speed, screaming.
Let me pause to describe the showroom to you for a second.
Our showroom’s front door is along a sidewalk, which is your standard 3 feet wide. To the left of this sidewalk is our parking lot. If you keep going out further, there’s about 6 feet of grass between the sidewalk, and a 6 lane thoroughfare with a speed limit of 50mph.
I think you see where I’m going with this.
It seems in slow motion, this kid runs out the door, across the grass, and into the street, with both of us running towards the front of the showroom to go after him. At this exact moment, a station wagon coming down the road sees this kid jump out in front of him and slams on his brakes, stopping about fifteen feet in front of the kid, who just freezes when the guy lays on the horn. The mother, and myself I’ll admit, froze when we heard the tires screeching.
Well, it wouldn’t be an accident unless there was another vehicle involved. Enter a Ford Econoline who didn’t see the kid, and was wondering why the hell the station wagon he was behind is suddenly not going forward.
SkreeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeBAM!
Anyone who’s ever heard two cars hit each other know exactly what it sounds like, and nothing else ever sounds like it. Station wagon gets pushed forward a few feet in the resulting collision. Glass goes everywhere, from the headlights and windshield of the econoline, and a string of traffic swerves around, barely missing the kid.
He finally gets the hint that maybe this is a bad place to be, and runs towards the door, while the mother and myself break free of our trance and run outside. She grabs her kid, wide eyed and terrified, and hugs him, both of them too shocked to say anything.
I'm too relieved at that moment to be angry. I run up towards the two vehicles to make sure everyone is okay, and as both the drivers get out of the vehicles, I hear another one start up.
While I was distracted, the mother took her kid, got into her car, and was heading for the exit of the parking lot way too fast for me to do anything. She turned on the main road and gunned it, flying right past where all three of us were standing.
So, at this point, I’m there with two middle aged men. The Ford driver is more confused than anything as to what just happened, and the driver of the station wagon is as white as a ghost, realizing how close he came to killing a kid. Eventually, we all calm down, and the situation defuses as follows:
Cops are called, for several reasons – to file a report on the accident, to file a report for the damage the kid did to the table, and to take down the information I got.
Once it was apparent that neither driver was at fault, and nobody was killed, the two middle aged drivers were pretty cool.
I gave both drivers and the police officer who came out to the scene copies of the make/model and license plate of the mother’s car. The officer left after taking the report, insurance info was exchanged between the drivers. The station wagon drove away (just some flattening on his back end and bumper, could have been worse) and the Econoline got towed because apparently the grill got shoved back into the radiator.
Unfortunately, this was earlier this month and I don’t have any followup – I haven’t been contacted by anyone involved, so I have no idea how it worked out. The only thing I knew about was that two days later corporate sent out an email saying we were dropping the table in question and to sell it off as a floor sample.
So, mother who can’t discipline her kid, at all, kid who takes advantage of this and knows he’s doing it, and what could have very very easily turned into something far worse than it did.
What do you think the odds are the kid (and mother) learned some valuable life lessons?
Yeah, I didn't think so either.
Let me start this with a disclaimer – I like kids. I don’t have any desire to have any of my own in the foreseeable future, but I can certainly understand their appeal. I have nothing against kids, and am constantly surprised when they end up being so much smarter and insightful than people give them credit for.
The children that I hate are the ones that are smart enough to manipulate a weak willed parent – a kid who knows what he’s doing is wrong, and enjoys it – and will keep doing it because they know the parent isn’t going to do anything because the little angel is just being a kid.
Is there a set formula or checklist to tell if the little tyke has some sort of disability or is just an evil manipulating tyke? No. You just know.
So, onward to the story.
A mother walks in with her kid, who’s roughly 5 years old, if I had to guess. I see them coming up around the windows and she’s trying to get him to follow her, and he’s yelling at her. This is not a good sign, by itself.
She ends up bringing him in – she’s a very soft spoken woman, while the kid is a little terror.
What follows is Kusanagi’s guide to dealing with out of control children (And their parents)
- Notice the kid is running around, and say “Careful!” in a voice loud enough to make sure the parents hear, and give them a chance to keep their kid under control and retain their respect and dignity.
- Say “Careful!” again, louder, and mention “There’s a lot of sharp corners in here, and I wouldn’t want him to hurt himself.” This provides a reason and is the probing shot as to how thick the parent’s skull is.
- Take a sterner tone, and say firmly “Can you please keep an eye on your child? There’s a lot of breakable stuff in here and if he damages anything I wouldn’t you to be held financially responsible.” Since the wellbeing of their child around many painful objects doesn't seem to concern the parent of the year at this point, we now add a direct consequence to the parent instead of one by proxy – financial issues.
- Time to get more forceful. “I need you to keep your child under control or I’m going to ask you to leave.” This makes them stop, or we immediately go to step 5.
- “Please don’t use that language, and leave my store now.”
Afterwards, it’s pretty much a play-by-ear that involves anything from staredowns to calling the police.
To give you an idea of how this child was behaving, we escalated to step 5 in less than 5 minutes. Running around, jumping on the furniture, standing on a table, and moving all the display knickknacks around or knocking them off on the floor. The mother didn’t do anything until I got to step 3. All she did was just say the kid’s name in a softspoken voice, more for my benefit than to actually do anything. As soon as the mother would look away, the kid would look at me, smile, and then go back to doing whatever it is he wanted to do.
The final straw that made my blood boil was what the kid did as the finale. He took one of the heavy Buddha statues we have (about 10 inches tall, with a square base that we put on the tables as displays) and started beating on the table with it. The sharp corner of the base dug into the table, leaving huge dents in the wood.
I yelled at the kid in a voice I’m sure he had never heard anyone use before. “HEY! KNOCK IT OFF!” The kid just freezes with huge eyes, the mother gets huge eyes, and I walk over and grab the statue out of the kid’s hand, while giving him a glare that could melt steel.
So now the mother decides to say something, and is toward her pweshus widdle aynjuwl? Of course not. It’s towards me for saying anything towards the aforementioned brat.
The mother start yelling at me about how dare I do that, blah blah blah. I was pissed, so I let her have it, both barrels blazing.
SC: How dare you yell at my son like that!
Me: I’ve asked both you and him multiple times to get under control. He’s being destructive and is causing damage. Get out.
SC: I’ll get you fired for yelling at him like that! You aren’t his parent!
Me: Well you certainly aren’t acting like one!
SC: I promise I’ll get you fired!
Me: Yeah, I’m sure. Come here for a second.
I took her over to the table, and showed her the GIGANTIC %#(@%@ DENTS in the table. (No kidding, this statue was heavy enough do put quarter inch dents in solid oak)
Me: Congratulations, you just bought a $500 table.
SC: No, I’m not paying for that!
Me: Okay, fine.
Then while she stares at me, I calmly walk over to the desk, grab a notepad and paper, and start to walk to the windows facing the parking lot.
SC: What do you think you’re doing?
Me: I’m writing down your vehicle information, along with the license plate number. I’m going to need it when I call the police to file the property damage report.
SC: You are not calling the police on me!
Me: (holding up the notebook) Watch me!
At this point, the brat is still just standing there, as it’s obvious that he might be starting to realize that the reason the two adults are going at it might have something to do with the deliberate fun and games he was playing with me and mommy dearest. He starts to yell for his mommy, and mommy, in a fit of rage over my actions, looks at him and yells even harsher than I did “shut up!”
Pweshus is first bewildered, then batsh*t enraged that his mother spoke to him like that, runs up, punches her in the stomach, and then tears out the front door at full speed, screaming.
Let me pause to describe the showroom to you for a second.
Our showroom’s front door is along a sidewalk, which is your standard 3 feet wide. To the left of this sidewalk is our parking lot. If you keep going out further, there’s about 6 feet of grass between the sidewalk, and a 6 lane thoroughfare with a speed limit of 50mph.
I think you see where I’m going with this.
It seems in slow motion, this kid runs out the door, across the grass, and into the street, with both of us running towards the front of the showroom to go after him. At this exact moment, a station wagon coming down the road sees this kid jump out in front of him and slams on his brakes, stopping about fifteen feet in front of the kid, who just freezes when the guy lays on the horn. The mother, and myself I’ll admit, froze when we heard the tires screeching.
Well, it wouldn’t be an accident unless there was another vehicle involved. Enter a Ford Econoline who didn’t see the kid, and was wondering why the hell the station wagon he was behind is suddenly not going forward.
SkreeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeBAM!
Anyone who’s ever heard two cars hit each other know exactly what it sounds like, and nothing else ever sounds like it. Station wagon gets pushed forward a few feet in the resulting collision. Glass goes everywhere, from the headlights and windshield of the econoline, and a string of traffic swerves around, barely missing the kid.
He finally gets the hint that maybe this is a bad place to be, and runs towards the door, while the mother and myself break free of our trance and run outside. She grabs her kid, wide eyed and terrified, and hugs him, both of them too shocked to say anything.
I'm too relieved at that moment to be angry. I run up towards the two vehicles to make sure everyone is okay, and as both the drivers get out of the vehicles, I hear another one start up.
While I was distracted, the mother took her kid, got into her car, and was heading for the exit of the parking lot way too fast for me to do anything. She turned on the main road and gunned it, flying right past where all three of us were standing.
So, at this point, I’m there with two middle aged men. The Ford driver is more confused than anything as to what just happened, and the driver of the station wagon is as white as a ghost, realizing how close he came to killing a kid. Eventually, we all calm down, and the situation defuses as follows:
Cops are called, for several reasons – to file a report on the accident, to file a report for the damage the kid did to the table, and to take down the information I got.
Once it was apparent that neither driver was at fault, and nobody was killed, the two middle aged drivers were pretty cool.
I gave both drivers and the police officer who came out to the scene copies of the make/model and license plate of the mother’s car. The officer left after taking the report, insurance info was exchanged between the drivers. The station wagon drove away (just some flattening on his back end and bumper, could have been worse) and the Econoline got towed because apparently the grill got shoved back into the radiator.
Unfortunately, this was earlier this month and I don’t have any followup – I haven’t been contacted by anyone involved, so I have no idea how it worked out. The only thing I knew about was that two days later corporate sent out an email saying we were dropping the table in question and to sell it off as a floor sample.
So, mother who can’t discipline her kid, at all, kid who takes advantage of this and knows he’s doing it, and what could have very very easily turned into something far worse than it did.
What do you think the odds are the kid (and mother) learned some valuable life lessons?
Yeah, I didn't think so either.
Kus.
Wow! People never cease to amaze me!
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