If I were in charge of the world...
Aug. 26th, 2001 05:22 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
rivka...I'd have immediate powers of retribution in situations like the one I just experienced, and I wouldn't be struggling to calm down from an aborted adrenaline rush right now. As it is, my fingers are having a bit of trouble finding the right keys.
I stopped off for some ice cream after visiting the range, and moments later three people sat down at the booth in front of mine: two older white women and a biracial girl, probably five years old. I heard the kid complaining in a mild sort of way, but it didn't really catch my attention until one of the older women started in, in vicious ringing tones that were impossible to avoid:
"You know what? Your house, the way you live, your room - it's disgusting. You're complaining that your chair is sticky? That's minor. That's minor compared to the disgusting way you live, the way you smell. It makes me sick."
I fixed her with my coldest death glare and hoped she'd stop, but she was oblivious. She kept going: "I can't believe the way you talk to your grandmother. My grandchildren would never talk to me that way. They have more respect. Do you know what my mother would do with you right now if she was here? She'd beat you with a belt. For being bad and disrespectful..."
It went on and on. I couldn't eat. I set down my spoon and glared at her, tried to decide if there was anything else I could do. Finally she met my gaze, angrily. "You got a problem?"
"Yeah." I knew it wouldn't do any good, but I didn't want my silence to imply complicity. "The way you're talking to that little girl is making me lose my appetite."
"Then don't eat."
"You've got no call to talk to her that way." I realized that this was only going to escalate if I stayed, and that escalation could only be bad for the kid, so I caught the attention of my waitress. "Could I be moved to another table? These people are bothering me." The evil bitch didn't say anything else, and I gave the kid an encouraging little smile as I went past.
And sat down elsewhere, and shook. And tried to tell myself: it doesn't sound like the evil bitch is actually the child's mother or grandmother. Hopefully she has limited contact with the kid. You can't call CPS in a situation like this. Anything else you do to try to intervene is only going to make things worse for the kid once you're gone.
By the time I finished my ice cream, they were gone. I don't think they even ordered.
I'm still shaking. That poor kid. That evil bitch of a woman. What on earth possesses a person to think that it's okay to talk to a child that way? I tell you, if I were in charge of the world, that woman would be a greasy smear on the vinyl seating, and the kid would be on her way with strict instructions not to let anyone tear down her soul... and I wouldn't feel so goddamned impotent right now.
I stopped off for some ice cream after visiting the range, and moments later three people sat down at the booth in front of mine: two older white women and a biracial girl, probably five years old. I heard the kid complaining in a mild sort of way, but it didn't really catch my attention until one of the older women started in, in vicious ringing tones that were impossible to avoid:
"You know what? Your house, the way you live, your room - it's disgusting. You're complaining that your chair is sticky? That's minor. That's minor compared to the disgusting way you live, the way you smell. It makes me sick."
I fixed her with my coldest death glare and hoped she'd stop, but she was oblivious. She kept going: "I can't believe the way you talk to your grandmother. My grandchildren would never talk to me that way. They have more respect. Do you know what my mother would do with you right now if she was here? She'd beat you with a belt. For being bad and disrespectful..."
It went on and on. I couldn't eat. I set down my spoon and glared at her, tried to decide if there was anything else I could do. Finally she met my gaze, angrily. "You got a problem?"
"Yeah." I knew it wouldn't do any good, but I didn't want my silence to imply complicity. "The way you're talking to that little girl is making me lose my appetite."
"Then don't eat."
"You've got no call to talk to her that way." I realized that this was only going to escalate if I stayed, and that escalation could only be bad for the kid, so I caught the attention of my waitress. "Could I be moved to another table? These people are bothering me." The evil bitch didn't say anything else, and I gave the kid an encouraging little smile as I went past.
And sat down elsewhere, and shook. And tried to tell myself: it doesn't sound like the evil bitch is actually the child's mother or grandmother. Hopefully she has limited contact with the kid. You can't call CPS in a situation like this. Anything else you do to try to intervene is only going to make things worse for the kid once you're gone.
By the time I finished my ice cream, they were gone. I don't think they even ordered.
I'm still shaking. That poor kid. That evil bitch of a woman. What on earth possesses a person to think that it's okay to talk to a child that way? I tell you, if I were in charge of the world, that woman would be a greasy smear on the vinyl seating, and the kid would be on her way with strict instructions not to let anyone tear down her soul... and I wouldn't feel so goddamned impotent right now.
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Date: 2001-08-28 07:19 am (UTC)I've been thinking about this some more. One of the things that made it so awful was that it appeared to be so cold and deliberate. I could understand (not approve, but understand) the kind of scenario in which, say, the baby's crying and the washing machine has just flooded the house and the five year old has just knocked over a stack of china playing ball in the house after being told not to, and the mother loses it and screams something nasty at the five year old. But this wasn't about losing one's cool in an incredibly stressful and escalating situation - it was just a cold and methodical attempt to destroy the kid's self esteem. Out of nowhere, as far as I could tell.
I still get a bit of that gut-churning adrenaline surge, even thinking about it in retrospect.