This was written in response to Johnās March 14th “Writer’s Workshop Prompts” at The Sound Of One Hand Typing, meeting two of his prompts: an eight-sentence post based on the word ārespectā. I write long sentences!
Not too long ago I brought my car to the dealer for routine maintenance and since it was going to be a quick appointment, I opted to wait in the customerās lounge rather than go home and come back when the car was ready; apparently, quite a few other people had the same idea because the waiting area was quite full.
Sometimes Iāll find myself engaged in conversation with an interesting person but most times I prefer to wait in quiet, reading my emails or making notes for a story; this particular day, since the waiting area was full, I had no choice but to sit next to a woman and her little boy, approximately 3 years old.
The first thing I noticed about the woman was the hostility and impatience that shot out of her like a machine gun and the primary recipient of her nasty temperament was her little boy; she seemed to take great pleasure in taunting and teasing him and reprimanding him, both verbally and physically.
I was very uncomfortable with her behavior and found it extremely difficult to stay out of the situation but if I expect people to respect my boundaries, I need to show the same respect to them, however, this woman seemed to be inviting someone to say something; obviously no one wanted trouble so everyone kept their eyes averted, heads down and mouths shut, but the atmosphere in the room was tense.
The final straw came when the woman reached into her purse, pulled out a granola bar and began eating while her little boy stood at her knees whining because he wanted something to eat, too; the woman told him that was too bad because he already had his snack and the granola bar was HERS, and, of course, the child threw himself onto the floor and began crying at which point the woman bent over in her seat and slapped the boy several times on the side of his head, causing him to scream out.
That was it for me and while the other people tskād and muttered and winced, I turned to the woman and said in a tone as matter-of-factly as if I was asking what time it was, āPlease donāt hit your childā to which she yelled āShut up, bitch, and mind your own fucking business!ā, which wasnāt entirely unexpected but I was prepared.
I got up and left the room, fully aware of eyes on me, glaring at me and I could feel their resentment as if I was the wrongful party in this scenario who let that little boy down while they all sat mutely by and allowed the poor child to be mistreated; whatās more, I could feel that horrible womanās eyes boring a hole in my back, acting the fool and flaunting her victory over a defenseless child.
When I returned a minute later with a policewoman to show her what was going on in front of people who chose to remain silent, the mood in the room immediately shifted and I was suddenly the hero with people actually applauding for me as if this was some kind of performance for their entertainment; I wanted to scream āLive by example, you fucking bastards!ā, but I wouldn’t lower myself to their level and couldnāt get out of that room fast enough .ā¦ a room reeking of the stench of cowards with no self-respect.
NARĀ©2024
This is āTeach Your Childrenā by Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young
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