I'll gladly sit in traffic with the radio on, I don't mind standing in line for hours at an amusement park, but tell me to be patient for five minutes while someone is trying on some clothes and I start to get the itch.
During that brief moment, claustrophobia and depression overcome whatever thoughts were rolling around in my brain while I try to suppress tics and twitches. My temples pulsate and I pray for the clothing of my friend, significant other or family member to rip, sending them into their own fit of depression. That way we are at least birds of a feather.
There's only one thing that can make this scenario any worse. A child, usually three-to five-years-old walks around the corner and sees an airplane on display, one that's not for sale, but is only there to draw the attention of the kid so that when he points, mommy looks at the clothes and says, Little Tommy would love like a young Jerry Mathers in that outfit.
Only this particular mom has no interest in the outfit because she spent the rest of the week's paycheck on Newport Lites and Daddy's "really big root beer barrel" in the garage.
She explains to her son that the plane is not for sale, and besides, she's already bought him four toys similar to the the object of his affection and he's turned them all into Wall-e chores.
This doesn't suit Thomas and pretty soon a vein bulges out of the side of his neck big enough for even Mr. Magoo's vampire reincarnation to suck with sweet succulence on the first bite.
Before you know it, you can see Tommy's nipples, his t-shirt is so wet from his own tears. He's planted his feet so firmly into the ground that he's begun to take a number 2 in his Spiderman undies, and the noise coming out of his mouth makes you wish wonder how much of your arm will fit down his throat before he chokes. We all sit and wonder when super-mom is gonna get her wits together and figure out a way to make this little sucker shut up, but she just turns her back to him and says she'll deal with him when she gets home.
This is my own private 9/11.
Then Melissa Means steps into the picture.
Means, apparently a mom of few words, seemed to have noticed that the public was not in favor of her son's similar sobfest, and took matters into her own hands, dragging her son through a Rome, Ga. Verizon Wireless store, using a leash connected to his bookbag.
My first thought... FINALLLLLLY! I mean, the kid doesn't look like he's really struggling much. In fact, it's hard to say that he doesn't enjoy it. Sure, it might look a little like when Achilles dragged Hector around the city of Troy, but come on.... there's no stones or anything in the kid's way. He actually looks to be gliding pretty effortlessly.
"Means, of Gaylsville, Ala., told police that she suffered from lupus and pneumonia and that her son was refusing to walk and because of her health problems, she could not pick him up."
Okay, I understand that, being a mom, sometimes you have to go out when you're sick to pick up emergency supplies: medicine, food, condoms, etc. But what the hell did this lady need at the Verizon Store while she's suffering from pneumonia? That shit kills people!
"I understand I look a little under the weather sir, but I really want my ring tone to play the Beyonce remix of Fever, you know, to put me in the proper mood."
"According to the report, Means said her son liked being 'pulled around by his monkey.'"
Are we sure the police weren't confused by the nature of this pulling when they made the arrest?
The inspecting officer said that the child had a bruise on the left side of his cheek from the backpack strap, but how could he be sure that wasn't from the car's seat belt that the kid was probably too young to be wearing? Could it not be from hand-to-neck strangulation?
"Representatives from the Division of Family and Children Services (DFCS) were notified of the incident and the child was later released to his grandmother.Means was charged with cruelty to children and taken to the Floyd County Jail."Well I know I'll sleep better tonight knowing that Means is in jail. I'll also shop better next time I need something, knowing that at least one child has learned that he can't always get what he wants.
The moral of this story, of course is, don't perform crimes or even misdemeanor in a store where every single product in it comes equipped with a tiny camera. Save those wifebeater-collar crimes for K-Mart or the Costco.