I was visiting my goddaughter, and I ask her what she wants to be when she grows up.

Goddaughter: “I want to be everything, except for a bad guy or a cowboy.”

Me: “Why not a cowboy?”

Goddaughter: “I don’t know. I just don’t want to be a cowboy.”

Me: “But you want to be everything else? You’re going to be a plumber, and a cop, and a doctor? Isn’t that a lot of things to do at once?”

Goddaughter: “No, I’ll do them all.”

Mother: “It’s too bad she won’t be a cowboy or she could be all of the Village People at once.”

My goddaughter stayed true to her claim for my whole visit, repeatedly telling me she didn’t want to be a bad guy or a cowboy. Poor cowboys get no love.

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I work with two- to three-year-olds at a daycare. One boy is a little whiny at the end of the day. His mother is in a hurry and looks like she’s about to scold him, which I know will only make things worse for the both of them, so I sit down next to the boy.

Me: “Boy, oh, boy, did we have a busy day or what?”

Boy: *Sighs dramatically* “Oh, Mommy, you wouldn’t believe it.”

Mom gives a tired little smile.

Me: “I think Mommy may have had a very busy day, as well.”

Boy: “Mommy, did you?”

Mom: “I sure did, sweetheart.”

Boy: “I see.”

Me: “How about you put on your shoes so you can go home and have a nice dinner together?”

Boy: *Starts fake crying again* “I don’t waaaant toooooo! I never, ever, ever want to leeeeaaave!”

Mom: “Oh, [Boy], come on!“

Me: “Oof. They really are a handful at this age, aren’t they?”

Mom: “They really are. I just don’t know what’s wrong with him!”

Me: “Oh, don’t worry. Nothing’s wrong with him. He really is just very tired. Once you get some food in him and have a bit of quiet time before bed, he’ll be back to his sweet old self in no time. Every child his age does this, trust me. Now, [Boy], you see Mommy is very tired, too? She’s probably hungry, as well! I bet you’ll have something really nice for dinner. Put your shoes on and Mommy will show you!”

Boy: “You put my shoes on!”

Me: “Me? Oh, I could never. You are way too big to need any help!”

Boy: “That’s right, I am the biggest. Look, Mommy! Look! I can do this all by myself. I don’t need any help at all from no one!”

Mom: “That’s wonderful, honey; I am so proud of you.”

They leave quite happily. A couple of days later is another very busy day with various temper tantrums, ear-piercing screams, pinching, and biting. I am pooped at the end of the day, and I look like a wrung-out mop. The same boy is being picked up by his mother.

Mom: “Oh, dear, look at you! Long day?”

Me: *Managing a smile* “You wouldn’t believe it.”

Boy: *Pets my head* “Oh, don’t worry, nothing’s wrong with her. She really is just very tired. Once you get some food in her and have a bit of quiet time before bed, she’ll be back to her sweet old self in no time. Every lady this age does this, trust me.”

Spot on, kid!

I worked at the prize counter of an arcade. I often had little kids come up and say, “I want that!” while touching the glass, pointing to something I couldn’t really see. I would use the scanner to scan the barcode to take away the tickets on their card.

I could also add tickets because we had a game that awarded plastic coins, each of which was worth one or five tickets.

Every once in a while, there would be a kid who would say, “May I please have a [prize]?” and say thank you when I gave them their toy. I would tell them and their parents how they could keep their cards for reuse the next time they came, and they and their parents would say thank you and that they would, but little did they know, I had added 500 to 1000 tickets to their cards for the next time.

I went mad with power when I worked the booth.

I’m in a popular gaming outlet. The cashier is talking to a kid who looks about nine or ten years old.

Cashier: “Sorry, can’t sell you that. That game is rated seventeen and up.”

Kid: “Oh, it’s for my cousin. I’m giving it to him as a gift.”

Cashier: “I said the exact same thing when I was your age and Mortal Kombat 3 came out. They didn’t believe me, either. Pick something else.”

Months later, I’m hanging around outside a mall. A girl who looks twelve or so approaches me.

Girl: “Excuse me, are you eighteen?”

I pull off my cap to reveal a badly receding hairline.

Me: “Don’t I wish! I’m not buying you cigarettes, though, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Girl: “No, no. [New Game] came out and I really want it, but they won’t sell it to me because it’s M-rated. Can you buy it for me?”

She is holding up a small wad of cash.

Me: “Listen. I did the exact same thing when I was a kid and they wouldn’t sell me a mature-rated game and my parents said no. I asked some random shmoe if he could run in and buy it for me, and I gave him the allowance money I’d been saving for months. The jerk went inside this exact same mall here and never came back out. Use your head! You have no idea who I am or who the next joker after me is.”

Girl: “Um… yeah, I guess I didn’t think of that.” *Shuffles away*

It sure is funny watching the next generation after you bump their noses in the same corners of the maze of life.

I was witness to the worst table ever. A neighbor invited me to go out to a restaurant with her and her toddler. I said sure, although I didn’t know her well, as we’d just moved to the area.

She let her toddler dunk paper napkins in water and paste them on the walls and smear mashed potatoes everywhere. Then, she let him out of his high chair with wet potatoey hands to roam about touching everything.

Neighbor: *Laughing* “The staff here just love [Kid]!”

She kept going on about it. The kid came back to the table and grabbed my plate, which was half full, and smashed it on the floor under the table.

My neighbor saw nothing wrong with any of this, nor did she help clean up. I tipped heavily and never went out with them again, nor did I go back to that place!