Christmastime in the Emerald City

{January 30, 2008}   All the Children of the World Stand United (Or just stand, really, I don’t care about the rest)

Alright, if your kid has polio or something, this may not apply to you. However, something occurred last night that pissed me off. I know, me? Pissed off? No way! But yes. I was pissed. Miffed, even. Not outright homicidal, I’m getting better at that. But miffed.

As we all know, it’s not that I hate kids so much. Sure, there are a few tubby chocolate-smeared bastards out there that I wouldn’t think twice about pushing into traffic, but it’s usually the parents. Parents have this thing about how *their* child is far more important than any other child, the Dalai Lama, and all the polar bears in the world combined. Sorry, but this is simply not the case. If it comes down to a choice between your snotty nosed bastard and some endagered form of blood sucking insect, it’s the gallows for little Jimmy-Bob I’m afraid. Sure, blood sucking insects are a pain in the ass, but there’s the whole web of life to consider.

Kids get motherfucking EVERYTHING. They have their own special doctors, we coddle them and fuss over their education. We guilt trip ourselves for not playing enough peekaboo with them or doing Rembrandt flashcards before the crucial age of five, six, or whatever random number they’ve chosen this year. We cry when we have to vaccinate them even though they get the goddamned lollipop afterwards! Oh, I’m so sorry I had to give you that life-saving medication!

Shut. Up.

Kids are more resilient than you think. A bop on the head isn’t going to kill them, a mosquito bite is not the end of the world. So unless they’ve consumed a bottle of Drano thinking it was candy (true story – the same kid, now 42, also fell into a sewer, which may explain his current metal-goatee and ‘smell my fist’ t-shirt…) then there really isn’t all that much to worry about. So unless some polio-riddled school-ager comes toddling onto the subway, why the hell are people leaping from their seats to make these kids even more comfortable than they already are?

This is precisely what happened last night. On the subway, some oh-so-exhausted mother came in through the crowd with that same limp hair and lack of makeup they all sport in what I perceive to be a failed ploy for sympathy. And along with her came her two kids. Two seperate people immediately jumped to their feet and gave their seats to these kids -who have probably done nothing more exhausing than recess all fucking day!

Fuck you! You get to wear sneakers! And you don’t even have to tie them with that velcro shit nobody over the age of eleven can get away with! I’m SITTING and my feet hurt! Sure I’ve got a bit of a shoe fetish. I’ve even got a shoe-a-day calendar. But as pretty as my pink crushed-velvet bow-tied pumps may be, they fucking hurt. I would far rather be wearing my dirty-ass flip flops. But no, I’ve got to look nice and pretty because it’s an apparent factor in one’s suitability for the workforce. (And don’t give me that garbage about comfortable shoes. You all know exactly what you think when you see a killer pair of corporate heels next to a dumpy pair of loafers. You think us chicks like the idea of an early hip-replacement? It’s all a game to see who can last the longest before giving in to the gramma-gear! And it’s vicious!)

Right, so at the end of the day, my ass wants a seat. And no way in hell am I giving it up to some ten year old whiney bastard with more energy in his little bones than a friggin’ atomic bomb. No. Fucking. Way. You can stand! You have the energy to stand! You don’t have the weight of life on your little bill-free rent-free recess-getting shoulders.

And no, I did not suddenly take up this philosphy once the spikes wedged themselves under my rat racing heels. I have always been this courteous. Last nights incident brought back a fond memory of early righteousness. It was the summer after highschool and I had been out for the day with my kid sister. As a touch of foreshadowing, this was the day I bought my super ass-tastic corporate skirt, completely oblivious to the fate that awaited me. (On that note, HA!!! I still fit into that skirt!) We then went to the candy store, oh glorious day! Then, as evening set in, we made our trek home.

This is the noble part (I know, such a change): When we got on the bus, there was an empty seat. I did not go for it. I didn’t need a seat. Sure, I worked at a daycare at the time, and that was pretty tiring, especially in an inner-city daycare where I had to go through the teen-mom’s impromptu send-along breakfasts for PEANUT M&M’s, keep run-away Jade from flinging herself down the stairs, and inform know-it-all Carlton that we are in fact allowed to use physical force, we just aren’t allowed to leave marks – and I am quite adept at phonebook justice. But at the end of the day, things were pretty decent. I got to sit cross legged on carpets, I still lived at home with University still a month away, and my shoe fetish back then consisted mainly of sassy wedge sandals. In other words, I sure knew I didn’t deserve that lone seat. So when my ten year old sister dove for it, I yanked her back by the ponytail with a sharp “YOU are the LAST person on this bus who needs to sit. You’re a kid. You can stand.” I later conveyed this to the parentals lest there be any tattling – and she got ‘the look’. NICE! That means I win.

Obviously, I can’t go around yanking kids out of subway seats by their ponytails. I believe they arrest people for such helpful maneouvers these days. But dirty looks have a surprisingly strong impact. So by all means, be courteous. Leap out of your chair for that elderly old man, that pregnant lady (unless she’s wearing Baby Phat brand clothing or hooker hoops – then you’re on your own, sister!), or even that tired looking young woman in attrocious heels. Several months ago, some middle aged trucker type fellow offered me his seat because he said a young lady such as myself deserved it more. See?! My faith in humanity can be restored so easily! So thoughtful! No way would I have expected that had I been wearing my jeans and flip flops, but I am all about the courteous gestures from random strangers. It makes the world go ’round.

But do NOT, I beg you, DO NOT give your seat to some kid who’s got less than fifty pounds weighing on his strong little ankles. You are robbing that kid of the character gained through years of knowing his goddamned place! Which is standing! You give those dirty looks, you mutter under your breath, you do everything you can to teach that jerk-face kid and his jerk-face parent/guardian that the spawn of adults do not deserve to sit!

Unless he’s got polio. In that case you can give up the seat. And if the mom looks tired and poor, give her the seat too. If she doesn’t, give her an outrageous scoff of ‘and why are you making your ill child ride the transit when you can clearly afford the taxi?’

The world will thank you. And vicariously, me.


Josh says:

Yeah, southern courtesy has it’s own set of guidelines. A man is obligated to give his seat to a woman rather than let her stand. The same goes for sick people or the elderly. But kids are the bottom heads on the totem pole. Around here we still whoop ass. Kids better respect their fucking elders. Some ignorant people refuse to discipline their children or teach them to behave. And trust me, I’m not one. I’ll call a kid out in a heart beat. Even strangers kids. Especially strangers kids. And I won’t hesitate to bitch the fuck out of a shitty parent. Don’t let your god damned kids bother me when you are out in public. Who am I to tell you how to raise you kid? I’m a guy who was raised right and learned to respect other people, that’s who the fuck I am you lazy, demon spawning bitch. Shut your fucking kids up or I’ll put the fear of God in your whole fucking family.

Where are the pics of this asstastic skirt? You would treat corporate Canada to asstastocity, but deny your adoring public? Maybe you should stand. 😉 (A+ on not getting fat after high school, you’ve got me beat)

Red says:

“pink crushed-velvet bow-tied pumps” OoooOOoh! Yes, totally worth the pain!
I “got” your rant an’ all, Im just thinking about shoes at the moment. Mmmm, shoes.

romi41 says:

Holy crap I laughed all the way through this (whilst pumping my fist in agreement), in these particular areas:

-limp haired moms with no make-up, LOL
-send along breakfast of Peanut M&M’s
-Phonebook justice (HA, it really doesn’t leave a mark? I have to try that 😉
-slutty teenage moms with hooker-hoops (LOL!)

Those were just a few selections, and to be honest, I never realized how important it is to UN-privildeg-ize most certainly builds character; if I ever have kids, I will aim to make their childhood worse than mine! (that won’t be TOO hard, LOL…but seriously, those little bastards, hahaha…)

@ Josh: Dude, that’s a great line. You’ve just given me the freedom to brave Wal-Mart for super cheap wool for knitting. Normally I’m to afraid of all the tyrannical tots and their skeezy mothers, but not anymore. I will totally be all “Who am I? Who am I?!?!? I was someone who was taught to respect other people etc. etc. lazy demon spawning cow faced whore (better than bitch) etc. etc. etc. fear of God in your whole motherfucking family!!!” AWESOME. I thank you kindly sir. And I generally don’t take pictures of myself at work, but perhaps a fancy picture-worthy outing will take place at some point. And I did gain weight. I just lost most of it again, and not even on purpose.

@ Red: Oh. Em. Eff. Gee. These shoes. They are awesome. They are so heartable. I will take a picture at some point. Truly, truly awesome. Thank you for noticing one of the most important details.

@ Romi: Yeah, dude, shit, she sent friggin’ M&Ms for her kid’s breakfast. WITH PEANUTS. I mean if you’re going to be a bad parent, at least keep it to yourself and not endanger the lives of well-behaved kids. It’s not the sickly kid’s fault his mom used too much Lysol.

Josh says:

I’m at a good weight for my size. I’m hovering right at 175 lbs. But I should switch about five or ten of that from fat to muscle for me to be more comfortable. I was skinny in high school. Now I’m a beefy slab of man steak. I’d fuck me if I was a (drunk) chick.

Beefy slab of man steak. Awesome. That’s hallmark worthy, dude.

Lucky says:

Holy Shit!



Why thank you Lucky! I tend to be my funniest when there’s some unsavoury character worthy of a swift descent of stairs lingering around. Happens on the subway quite frequently!

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s

et cetera
%d bloggers like this: