(It is 2011. In our arcade, we have redeemable prizes for tickets you win by playing games.)
Me: *after counting a little girl’s tickets* “Okay, you have 25 tickets.”
Customer: “Give me a watermelon Air Head!”
Me: “I’m sorry. You don’t have enough tickets for that.”
Customer: “But my President is black!”
Me: “And so is mine.”
(I work as an educator in a Native American village. I am with a group of pre-schoolers.)
Me: “Believe it or not, the Lenape used to tie their babies to a board and hang them in a tree so the foxes wouldn’t get them!”
Child #1: “Do they still do that?”
Me: “No, they live just like we do today and don’t need to.”
Child #2: “That’s not true. My mommy and daddy tie me to trees when they get mad.”
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(While standing in line as a customer, I notice a father and his two children in front of me. The son, about age eight, is sporting a Mohawk about as tall is he is. He looks positively adorable and when he turns and smiles at me, I return the smile.)
Boy: *tugging on his father’s coat* “Daddy, don’t flash all that money in your wallet! That b**** will take it! You always say how b****es are after your money!”
(The father laughs and agrees until he notices that his son’s free hand is pointing directly at me. The daughter, about age twelve, slaps him on the back of the head.)
Daughter: “Shut up, dumb-***! That b**** don’t want Dad’s money!”
(The father starts to feel uncomfortable with so many people staring. Not wanting to reprimand their behavior but still wanting to make some parental effort, he starts lecturing his son about how his shoes are dirty. Another customer behind me comes to my rescue.)
Another Customer: “If I were you, I’d be more worried about the dirt coming out of the other end of them!”
(The father fell silent, the children stopped calling me a b****, and I got one of my blouses for free.)
(I’m stocking the shelves. A male customer with a small child of about four comes up to me and asks if there is a post office nearby. I tell him there is one a couple of blocks away. He looks at the clock, and then takes his son’s hand and prepares to walk out of the store. The child doesn’t want to go.)
Customer: *to the child* “Come on, we need to go to the post office. It’ll close soon.”
Child: “I want to look at toys.”
Customer: “We have to go now. We can come back later.”
Child: “You go. I’ll wait here and play.”
Customer: “You can’t.”
Child: “Why?”
Customer: “Because your dad will go to jail for that.”
(The child looks perplexed.)
Customer: *trying to explain* “Think smaller Christmas present. And you’ll have to stay with Grandma a lot.”
Related:
Ah, Fathers, Part 5
Ah, Fathers, Part 4
Ah, Fathers, Part 3
Ah, Fathers, Part 2
Ah, Fathers
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(I work in a museum in Scotland, where I do activity sessions for young children. I am showing them some artifacts that were originally brought to Scotland by the Romans.)
Me: “These were brought to Scotland around 2000 years ago by an invading army. Who do you think this could’ve been?”
Child: “Hitler!”
Me: “Well, it was a bit early for Hitler.”
Child: “Robert Burns!”
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