I don’t have children, so perhaps I don’t get the whole story behind the incidents I see at the cashier counter. You know what I’m talking about. It’s the meltdown when the kid wants sugar in some sort of chocolate bar or skittle. The parent says they will not buy it. And then, all hell really does break loose. And I’m the uncomfortable one. Not either of them. Well probably the cashier is the most uncomfortable one as they have to stand nearby with no exit strategy and can’t escape to frozen foods like I can.
The screaming and tirades the kid employs. The threats of the parent. It must be humiliating, yet the mother couldn’t care less as she asks the cashier for a carton of Newport Lights. That’s kind of discriminatory, right? Screw it.
Sugar = No
Nicotine = Hey Why Not. They’re your lungs after all.
Why can’t these disputes be settled in private? Is the parent oblivious to the spectacle s/he is making of him-herself? The kid could give a crap about appearances. They want that sugar and keep their eye on that prize.
So if you’re one of those parents, try this. Buy the damn thing. Don’t give it to the child until you’re outside the store. This’ll keep the scene down to a mere pouty face. Then once outside, toss the bar into the garbage and make sure the kid sees you do it. That’s right. Turn the tables on the little vagrant and rub their nose in it. Show ’em who’s the boss. Hey even light up one of those bad boy Newport Lights right in front of them too. Now they’ll certainly hit the stratospheres with rage, but what the hell. You’re outside and out of view. Everyone inside the store will think you’re a great parent, and outside the store your child will have a story they can tell their shrink in twenty years.
The parent is always the psychiatrist’s go-to catalyst anyway, so earn it. Give the kid some ammo. Now that’s real love.