Today I blew my cover in my super secret world wide Gang.. Damnit. All because I ran in a store to grab my mom a treat. I’m not Darkwing Duck, I am… e.v.e.r.y.w.h.e.r.e.
Dear punk teenagers with the crotch of your pants lower than your knees, with a cigarette hanging out of your mouth and your shirt flung over your should showing off what might one day be a chest:
Visual Example:
The second I walked in, I saw panic in the poor elderly woman behind the counter. haven’t we all? I mean I’m sure in her day she didn’t see a mans ass crack and drawers until after dark on her wedding day, but I am forward, I’ve got kids, I am cool and down with it, I can totally bridge this culture gap of generations no problem, let me slip on my cape.
I walked closer and I hear her voice quivery with a mix of fear, with a dash of authority. I can’t quite make it out, she makes only brief eye contact with you and repeats her words, and tone. I get closer to the counter where each of you are on separate sides, like a courtroom or even a crazy dance scene from west side story might break out, and lucky me, woot woot, front row seats to this off off off off off Broadway production.
As I grow closer though, she glances at me, with fear and pleading in her eyes. I look over to sum you up again, and you have a lighter, and you are flicking it, your cheap ass lighter that’s grinding oddly on that crooked flint throwing a faint spark as you steadily flick flick flick flick.
Then out of the corner of your 14 or 15 year old mouth that isn’t holding a cigarette you are trying feverishly to light while standing across the counter from a lady working a restaurant. WOW, NO FN WAY ? I must have heard that wrong, surely your little boy butt did not just put vocal thrust behind the F^$* YOU! you just spewed at this elderly lady working.
Now I hear and see, she is saying, ” no smoking, no smoking, you can’t smoke here, please leave, no it’s illegal, please please just leave me. English isn’t her first language, she may speak it fine normally but maybe her being so scared and upset is making it choppy, but not to choppy to misunderstand the meaning, and I certainly understand smart ass teen, and what you said to that lady was wrong.
I stood back, waiting, to see if you 2 human beings from such different times, who have had such different lives can come together to communicate, without any escalation. I mean honey please, your tennis shoes and watch probably cost more than this ladies car, and I’m quite sure your comfy little “pseudo” hard life was obviously way worse than whatever this woman went thru 50 years ago in another country she left to move to this one full of strangers, strange language, crossing an ocean to bust her ass to work in the food industry and be intimidated and cussed by a little spoiled puke poser like you.
Uhm no. You can’t. because in walked your 2 little spoiled punk boyfriends. with your shirts off, and your pants around your ankles which pretty much ensures no matter my current physical state of health I can disable each of you with little effort as basically you have tied your ankles together.. genius move dorks..
I tried, I did. I honestly tried to stay out of it. But my mom really really really wanted a food item from this location, and since even though I am an adult I do want to see my mom smile I had left her in the car while I ran in to grab what she wanted. I wanted to be some sort of bridge for you to to communicate across. DAMN YOU ! I already had my stupid cape on and now, I have to step in.
Sadly, I left my “little prick to English dictionary” in the car. So when your little boyfriends came in, holding their regions that might one day turn into a gender, and you yelled, ” F &^% YOU, followed by a racial slur as you made another round of attempts to light your cigarette, I remembered I may not speak little prick, but I speak mom.
So son, when the fat old white lady in capris and flip flops with her hair in a clip who looks like every other old white soccer mom on the planet reached up and slapped that cigarette out of your mouth today, I saw you recoil in fear, I understand when your little boyfriend bowed up like he forgot his common sense at home in his upper middle class 2 parents home with a landscaped yard and thought he was going to run his mouth in my direction, yeah yeah I stepped at him, and used my best loudest, out door MOM voice to scream while pointing. ” BOY DON”T YOU DREAM IT!! I KNOW YOUR MOMMA !! I WILL KNOCK YOUR SMART MOUTH INTO NEVERLAND IF YOU DON”T STRAIGHTEN UP AND GET OUT NOW ! in that split second dumbass 3 took off as fast as he could possibly waddle with his pants around his ankles towards the door, dumb ass 2 started backing himself toward the door like a duck backing away from a croc, and you, you I never broke eye contact as I growled, ” DO YOU KNOW WHO I AM? you blinked, I had you.
I had you, and I made you apologize, I made you throw away your ILLEGAL smokes and lighter, and I made you pull up your pants and walk out. Of course you do NOT know who I am, for I come in many forms.
Here’s the deal my little friend. Those of us “old ladies” you think you strike fear in? Baby boy, we been playing this game so long, we can flip it like a light switch.. Do you doubt me? Find any mom in the stands at her kids sports game, she will come completely OFF THE DAMN chain over a bad call by the ref. That mom, yeah that’s the same mom, that by one look and without saying a word can make your grown father cower off to the pantry to empty the trash.
There are ways to spot us. We keep our pants pulled up. often our hair too. we wear gang related clothing, often it’s like capris or yoga pants with a hair band around our wrist, you come across a mom with more than one hair band on her wrist? you are doomed, they are like belts in martial arts. Just quietly, and respectfully back the hell away. Of course you don’t know who I am son, because I am ” every mom ” the mom you thought was at work, or at home or busy, and trusted you and your little friends to go walking a strip mall while she got a pedicure. I am the shadow in the closet, I am the cop at the door, I am the glass of water that braves the dark at 2am when you were too scared to speak. I am the Doctor who nursed your wounds, the Teacher that helped you sing the ABC’s. I am the mother in labor, and the mother who keeps selected baby baby clothes in a keepsake box. I am the Judge, the Jury, and I poses a pair of eyes in the back of my head I allow your mother to channel. I will watch your precious little ass for her, if her eyes aren’t near. If she has misplaced trust in you, I will point out kindly how you are tying the damn rope around your neck yourself. I have faith that any mother of any child who was trying to play big bad ass criminal man, and scaring an old lady today, would have knocked the shit out of you so hard you would be back in diapers. If I am wrong about your mom, if. IF. If I am wrong and your mom thinks it’s fine for her little boy half naked to have ciggerettes, a dirty mouth, break laws and treat another human like trash, well then son, you need me more than you will ever know, and I’m sorry that your mom wants to be your friend more than she wants you to be a good person. Just remember.. We are a world wide network, we are trained, you wont ever know who is watching. So don’t be a little shit. m’kay?