Monday, July 11, 2005

Demons and Tourists

Since it is Monday, and since I hate Mondays, I think it is a good time to get something off of my chest.

Parents: Control your bratty kids in restaurants, especially if you happen to be in one during the lunch hour in the Washington DC Metropolitan Area.

Lunch is a sacred time for me. It is my chance to get away and read my newspapers. Today, I had the unpleasant experience of sitting next to a couple with two children who obviously ruled their parents with iron fists. They also smelled like out of town types. As I sat attempting to eat my sandwich with paper in hand, the younger of the two imps took to rolling on the floor around my chair. I attempted to ignore the situation, but it just kept building. The mother was off with the older one while the father had manned the table. Father didn’t bat an eye, acting as though it was normal for human beings to roll on a filthy deck and onto the feet of the innocent. I looked down and stared at the demon near my feet, hoping that daddy would get the hint. He didn’t, but the older one was on the way back.

The two switched places as the younger imp took her place with mother in line waiting for food. I thought this would be a good thing, but was sadly disappointed as the larger demon took to dancing on the partition that divided our respective tables. She was acting like a train, and yet dancing at the same time, all the while screaming “choo choo” at the top of her lungs. No Action Dad finally made his play. “Kinsley, could you please get down from there?” The imp replied, “Say please choo choo train.” Daddy replied meekly, “Please choo choo train”, at which the time this reincarnation of Medusa emitted a cackling laugh and continued her satanic dance. I had had enough; it was time to go. I made as much commotion in my retreat as possible, hoping I might accidentally step on a foot or something. No such luck.

As I was walking out the door, Daddy and I locked eyes. He was attempting to communicate with me using the telepathic means that men use when one of them is trapped and helpless. His eyes said, ‘I’m very sorry, but you just don’t understand’. Now, my telepathy isn’t very good. I was trying to respond with, ‘Oh but I do understand, and if my kids had acted as yours are, there would have been swift and righteous justice.’ Unfortunately, all I was able to get out was, ‘Bring those devils within ten miles of me again and you are going to see an explosion the likes of which Carl Sagan could not have conceived.' Then I left.