I am not a pervert.
Just because I sat and watched people over the weekend does not make me weird.
On a shopping trip, I elected to stay in the car, mainly because I would rather run into a burning building than go bathing suit hunting with The Girlfriend.
I thought I would have a torment-free day.
But then hordes of strip-mall patrons walked by the car, fighting and talking about nothing. I couldn't help myself. It was like a car wreck. I had to watch. I had to listen.
The first subject was a Demon Child.
We've all seen a Demon Child. Screaming the screams of Satan's minions, belching forth anger and resentment, cursing parents and all who behold it -- it is the embodiment of evil, and it's a kid.
As I'm sure this unfair labeling will rile even the most calloused reader (Hi, Mom!), allow me the following disclaimer:
I don't care.
The Demon Child and her parents, who apparently had long forgotten the miracle of childbirth and had begun to rue The Accursed Day The Child Came Out, appeared across the lot, walking to their car.
The Demon Child shrieked the way children do when they are on fire -- emitting a continuous, ear-wrenching banshee wail until the car door slammed, soundproofing her from the world.
The father took a deep breath, looked to the heavens, and after an especially long time (wonder why), opened the driver's door, again allowing the Demon Child's shriek to rip its way across the sky.
As the Demon Child rode away, I decided that when I have children, they shall not go out in public until age 16, and then they shall ride in the trunk.
Our second subject is The Silent Couple.
Two quiet, seemingly unhappy people got into the car next to me. The woman seemed transfixed by a box of Milk Duds. The man stood outside the car and studied a brand new yellow polo shirt for -- no kidding -- 10 minutes.
Milk Dud Woman shook her head and rolled her eyes. Her unhappiness with Polo Man was as obvious as the Milk Dud goodness stuck in her teeth.
Polo Man eventually got into the car and studied the shirt with Milk Dud Woman. This wasn't studying as one would give a newspaper -- this was intent study, like the guy had caught a UFO.
Finally, the two drove away to wherever weird, unhappy, non-communicative couples go.
I swore that if I am ever obsessed with a polo shirt or if my girlfriend is ever transfixed by Milk Duds, so help me, I would jump out of the car at a red light and run.
The parade of dysfunction continued, but the main attractions were over. Dumbfounded, I sat in the car and attempted to read, but I could only toss questions around in my head.
Who are these people, and where did their sanity go?
We're not doomed to unhappy relationships and demonic children -- are we?
We'll have children that take "no" for an answer -- won't we?
We can be thrust into adulthood painlessly -- right?
The murky depths of maturity lie ahead. Claw and scratch all you want -- these tickets are one-way and the Psycho Bus is now boarding.
You're seated with the Demon Child.
Have some Milk Duds.
Write to John at
kingseyeland@bsu.edu
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