I dunno man, for some reason or another, there's been this avalanche of collective societal behavior that's really gotten under my skin over the last few days. So I figured I'd run it down for you, the readers, in somewhat of a list-and-explain-type article. Sit down, open up that pack of crackers and enjoy, bitch.
What: Screaming, crying children.
The Scene: The mall.
How it went down: So I'm in Olympia Sports trying on new running shoes when from about ten miles away I hear this blood-curdling, back of the lungs screaming that could only be produced by one of two creatures: A wounded animal or a small attention-starved child. I've never liked children, and though maybe one day I might have a hand in one's production, I'm sure as hell not going to be one of these despondent parents that simply drag their screaming hell spawn by the wrist through public as if it's a wayward police siren.
So back to me sitting on this bench and trying on shoes... this family of overweight McDonald's-for-dinner-everynight, egg-shaped simians herd their screaming 6 year old into the store, and not only just stand at the entrance way so that everyone's attention is drawn to them, they then drag the little bastard over to where I'm sitting and sit his ass down right next to me.
Um, hello-o-o-o? Excuse me, apparently you didn't really earn that holey, stained and stretched "mom of the year" t shirt, huh? When the hell do you think it's appropriate to plant a fucking... screaming sound bomb next to someone? And I mean, this kid was fucking loud, man.
Now granted, it wasn't like I was at the Four Seasons or anything where that type of behavior would've been unheard of. No, I was in Olympia Sports trying to buy sneakers on the cheap. But still, the lack of consideration for everyone else in the world drove me to the point of near murder. I mean, the thing that really gets me is that these parents weren't even lifting a finger to silence this kid. And the dad! The dad, how spineless can one get? Fucking take charge of that little runt man! Grab him by the throat and say something like "listen here you little piece of shit: I made you and I can break you and no one will ever know what happened, you understand me? So shut the fuck up."
But here's the rub, America, what's lead to the degeneration of good parenting has been the trigger-happiness of organizations such as the Department of Human/Health Services, where with a simple phone call placed by the child, a SWAT team of care takers swam in on the house and shut down the whole operation. The parents get taken to court, custody of the children is awarded to the state, so on. And kids know this from talking to other kids at school.
Johnny: Jeez guys, my dad is a real ball breaker about me mowing the lawn this weekend...
Billy: Yeah, well if he gives you a hard time, call this number and tell whoever picks up that your dad hits you and gets drunk and makes you slave around the house. You'll be in Disney World by Friday.
And it's true! ...Well all but the Disney World part. It happened to friends of my parents a few years ago. They have a rebellious daughter with a love of drugs, booze and black guys. So one day, her dad, my dad's friend, decided he'd had enough with all the bullshit from his 16 year old, and told her that there were going to be some changes. She was going to get her car taken away, she was going to have a curfew, and she wasn't going out on school nights anymore. To this, the daughter called DHS, and in 24 hours she was getting put up in a motel room, free to do whatever she wanted, unattended by any adults, while her parents were looking down the barrel of insurmountable fines and possibly jail time for being "abusive."
And the case is still pending, I think.
So yeah, anyway, don't bring your screaming kid around me. I'll break it's fucking neck like I would that of a small bird.
The Scene: The British Brewing Company, Hyannis
How it went down: So me and a few of my shipmates wanted to go out the other night. We hit pretty much every bar in town. And we were doing it the right way, with a DD, which came in the form of my 19 year old roommate.
So we bop on over to the BBC (I now refer to it as the Big Black Cock) and go in to have some more drinks. The only problem is the fat fuck sitting on a stool by the door.
He's barely checking IDs, putting bracelets on people, basically marinating in his own fat juices. We all present our military IDs and he starts putting the bracelets on everyone, when he takes a second look at my roommate's ID.
"Hey, you're not 21," he says.
"Yeah, I know, I'm 19..." my roommate says truthfully. And I gotta give it up to my roomie, he easily could've just said nothing and gotten in and drank, but he's a stand up guy and knows the rules.
"Well, you can't come in then," and mind you, the BBC is a restaurant/BAR. And the fact that they're putting bracelets on people 21 and over... he didn't have to put a bracelet on my roommate, he could've just been like "ok well, you can go in, but you're not getting a bracelet for the bar."
"But he's our designated driver, you have to let him in," says another member of our party.
"No I don't," and now a crowd is starting to form behind us from the log jam we're creating.
"This is bullshit," I start. "You're going to turn away four paying customers because he's 19? He's getting us home safe tonight. Wow, I guess I know where the BBC stands on drunk driving..."
"Hey, don't give me a hard time, the door's over there," he says and points his fat finger backwards.
"There isn't even a sign here that says '21 plus tonight' so what the fuck dude?" The other member of our party says. Ryan just stands there, the obvious pawn in this chess game of inebriation.
"Listen, do I gotta call the cops here or what?" The fat pricks says through his sweat.
"No, no, we wouldn't want you to exert yourself anymore than you have to, tubs," I say and we leave. My roommate got really bummed out and it kinda killed our night altogether.
But what is it about doorman feeling like their god? Like would it have killed this guy (like the supposed blood clot he's bound to suffer) to let our driver in? I mean, me and my fellow of-age members were clearly shit faced, whereas our under aged driver was sober, polite and above all else, honest. So that's what you get for being a stand up guy? It's like getting AIDS from Abstinence.
So since then, we've decided that we're no longer going to be patrons of the BBC, because they're pricks, but also because they obviously want to see their customer's die in a fiery auto wreck because they don't believe in enslaving an under-aged person to chauffeur drunken hooligans.
(Editor's Note: Jim wanted to let everyone know that you should always designate a driver when you go out drinking, even if it's you and just one buddy. Although it's cool to drive drunk with a loaded firearm, and feel like 50 Cent, you probably can't afford a roomful of lawyers to handle your court case as Fiddy could. Designate a driver, because at best, you get pulled over and pay fines out the ass, at worst, you kill yourself or someone else. ....Hopefully a family with uncontrollable screaming children.)