A dad came into the store with his three-year-old and picked out a $150 headset.
Dad: “I want to buy this for my daughter. I need to one-up my ex-wife.”
Then, his girlfriend came in and they started arguing over the price. The kid was all alone, halfway across the store, chewing on merchandise
They also yelled at me and my store manager when we asked them to pay for the $3 blind box that the kid had left soaking wet with her spit.
This happened during the 1980s, when kids stayed outside until the street lights came on and could generally be trusted to walk two or three miles to school every day without Mom and Dad worrying about them being snatched up.
I was six years old at the time.
Mom: “Do you want to be Mommy’s special helper today? Go down to [Store] and pick up these items, and I’ll have a special surprise for you!”
She handed me a baggy with money and a small shopping list.
Me: *Gleefully* “Okay!”
Telling the story from my six-year-old perspective: I happily skipped my way over, but the store was closed. I was sad because I wanted to be Mommy’s special helper and get the prize. Glumly and in tears, I walked back home.
However, midway back, my dad suddenly appeared from nowhere, soaked in sweat and looking like he’d done a serious workout in a gym.
Dad: *In between pants* “Where… in the world… are you going?”
Me: *Confused innocence* “Home. Were you exercising?”
Dad: “Oh, hush!”
He led me off my intended path, took me over to a payphone, and called for my mother to come pick us up. He then threw himself on a nearby bench while panting like a dog having an asthma attack.
My mom came and picked us up with my dad looking at her like he wanted to strangle her. She gave me a hug with an “at least you tried” pep talk, and I ended up getting her little prize anyway.
Years later, when I was older, I finally got Dad’s perspective of what had really happened.
As you probably figured, Mom had sent Dad to secretly follow behind me just to make sure I got there and back safely.
The trek to the store in question was about a mile or so away. Taking a reasonable and logical route would have had me there in thirty minutes, each way. However, being an energetic and adventurous six-year-old, I thought a more fun path would be to cut through some woods, climb up a steep wall of rocks and discarded concrete blocks, go through a long-abandoned tunnel, climb over a tall chain fence, cut through what had to have been a mile of tall weeds, and presto, I was there! In an hour.
The store was closed for the day, and my dad said I bawled and threw a little tantrum, as could be expected for a six-year-old, but then he said that, for reasons he’ll never understand, I decided to continue my tantrum while taking a completely different route home, which involved walking up an incredibly steep hill, looping around a college campus that was completely out of the way, more woods, more fences… all while kicking random objects, bawling, and wailing.
It was then, after he was completely wiped, that the poor man had to blow his cover, even though we were about a maximum ten-minute walk away from home.
After that, my mom took me on a walk one day to show me “an easy, fast way” to get there on foot “because sometimes Mommy doesn’t like to wait all day long” — to my dad’s massive relief.
My brother managed to pick up work at a racehorse training farm in New Zealand through a mate. This is his first visit back home, so Mum, Dad, and I all jump in Dad’s car and head over to the international airport to pick him up.
Mum and I are waiting inside the terminal while Dad does laps outside since parking fees are absolutely insane here if you’re not booking the car park for multiple days.
This is during the G20 Leaders’ Summit, so international airports are on higher alert than usual across the globe due to increased risk of terrorism threats. Even in Australia, where terrorism threats aren’t exactly the norm, the major airports aren’t messing around with their security protocols. We pass through the security checkpoints and go through the expected rigmarole of tests and questions without issue, find some seats, and settle in to wait for my brother’s flight to land.
Mum has found a new song she is into and starts bopping in her seat and humming the tune quietly, despite the song not actually playing from any of the speakers. I give her a strange side-eye, recognising the song as “Geronimo” by Sheppard. You know the one. “So say geronimo! Say geronimo! Say geronimo!” (You’re welcome.)
Then, she gets to the part where the chorus repeats, “Bombs away,” and she is no longer humming.
I’m now openly ogling her with a “WTF are you doing?!” look plastered across my face just as a security guard approaches doing his rounds. As he comes into hearing range, Mum switches over to, “Say geronimo!” and sings more softly. She watches the security guard as he passes, singing softly all the while, and once he’s past and out of range again, she picks up the volume and switches back to “bomb’s away”.
Me: “Mum! What are you doing?! You’re going to get us arrested!”
Mum: “[My Name], you do realise they probably have microphones all over the place, right? It’s the international airport, and the G20 is on; if it was an issue, we would already be detained.”
I open and close my mouth like a fish out of water for a few moments, trying to grasp the absurdity of this statement.
Me: “You realise that doesn’t make it any better, right?! If anything, it’s even more inappropriate!”
Mum: “Nah, I’m sure they know the difference between a serious discussion about an act of terrorism and a joke. Besides, it’s a good song.”
She then started singing again.
We didn’t get detained, my brother arrived on time, and we were able to leave without even so much as a suspicious glance from security staff. But seriously, time and place, Mum!
While visiting family, I’m asked to go to the chippy and buy dinner. I’m really bad with directions and don’t know the area well, but luckily, the directions I’m given are simple. Leave the house, go left, and stay on the pavement. Do not cross any roads; the chippy will be on the left. On the way back, leave the chippy and turn right and the house will be on the right.
At the time, I’m a teenager and my dad has decided that I don’t need a phone, so if I get lost, I have no way to contact my family unless I can find someone who does have a phone and will let me borrow it.
Despite my nerves, this seems like a simple enough explanation that I won’t get lost, so off I go. There is one bit of the pavement that can barely be walked on, and it would be safer to cross the road than balance on the kerb, but I have been told not to cross the road, so I don’t.
I walk for a long time. Eventually, I see my grandad’s house again. I have walked a complete loop and have not seen the chippy at all. They don’t believe me, telling me how unobservant I am. That isn’t false, per se, but still unappreciated. I’m sent to look for the chippy again, and this time I keep my head turned to the left and make sure each building I pass is not the chippy.
When I return the second time, it’s been approaching forty minutes since I was first supposed to leave. No one is happy with me. My dad is yelling that it should not be this difficult for me to find the chippy. I’m sent out a third time, and this time, I check both left and right just in case. Still no chippy.
The fourth time, my dad comes with me. He’s fuming and planning on showing me exactly where the chippy is and why I’m so oblivious to have not noticed it beforehand. I’m planning to walk along the pavement as I have been to show him that there is no chippy.
After the pavement that’s basically just a kerb, there is a T-junction, so we have to go left. But as I turn to the left and follow the pavement as I was told to do, my dad walks up to the road and is about to cross it.
Dad: “Where are you going?”
Me: “I’m following the pavement.”
Dad: “No, the chippy’s this way.”
Me: “But you said not to cross any roads.”
Dad: “This isn’t a road.”
Me: “Yes, it is. That’s the road it connects to, and the cars turn into it there and then go this way.”
I point in the direction I was going to walk.
Dad: “Oh, come on. It’s so tiny it barely counts.”
I am not at all happy about this, but I follow him across this not-road and the next immediately after. The chippy is just a couple of doors to the left now.
Dad: “See, there it is. That wasn’t so hard now, was it?”
Me: “But we had to cross roads. You said there were no roads.”
Dad: “They don’t count as roads. You were supposed to cross them. How did you think you’d get to the chippy by turning left too early?”
I had to spend all of dinner listening to him tell everyone how “silly” I was for not knowing I was supposed to cross not-roads when I was told to not cross roads.
This mother and a young kid come in and they purchase a copy of “Grand Theft Auto V”. I give the usual warning about beating hookers to death and stealing, but the mother brushes it off and buys the game
A week later, the kid comes in with his copy.
Kid: “Can I trade this in for something else?”
Me: “Oh, why? Didn’t you like it?”
Kid: “My friends said this was fun, but everyone’s really bad and rude, and I almost said a bad word to one of the black men, so I wanna play something else.”
Since GTA V is a really hot item in the store, and because his response made me skip a beat, he got a large amount of store credit which he used to happily buy some more age-appropriate games. I wish more people could have that level of introspective thinking.
Related:
Grand Theft Innocence, Part 15
Grand Theft Innocence, Part 14
Grand Theft Innocence, Part 13
Grand Theft Innocence, Part 12
Grand Theft Innocence, Part 11
