I was in need of a red marker, so after work I stopped by the Dollar Tree. Having been there on several occasions before, I suspected they'd have what I need and they didn't disappoint. As I scanned the aisle up and down, searching through the virtual sea of multi-coloured pens and markers, I failed to notice the small-statured tyke flanking me from the left.
He squeaked at the last moment, diverting my attention from the product hooks, down at him. Sadly, it wasn't quick enough, as the little f*cker struck me hard in the shin with some kind of club, then scurried away around the corner. The assault never hurt as much as the bewilderment of why a parent would, not only allow their child to run amok in a shopping venue, but also allow them to hit strangers?
"Seamus!" the mother called, with a thick Irish accent from the far end of the aisle, "Come back here at once, boy!" I looked up at her, failing once more to hear the little bastard come up to me from behind, and strike me once more, this time on the back of my left leg, spinning me around to catch his eyeing me up for a third swing.
"Stop playing with that man and come here." his mother shouted again, never addressing the fact that her little tyrant had struck me twice and was vying for a hat trick. "Really?" I uttered in her direction, insinuating that we were not engaged in a game of folly, but in what could be construed as a violent exchange.
I heard a clank and looked back to see the little guy drop his golf club and reach out towards me like a hungry zombie craving fresh meat. I flung my hands up and told him to get away from me. I wasn't afraid of him, obviously, as I could crush him under my foot like the little pest that he was, but these days, you can't be too cautious when it comes to Stranger Danger.
Finally, grandma came and grabbed him by the arm, and drug him back to his mother's cart, leaving the small metal golf club behind. I stared at them blankly, waiting for the apology that would never come.
If I were to be completely honest. the kid wasn't pasty and pale, nor was he named Seamus, His family weren't of Irish decent, but actually appeared to be Middle Eastern. The little boy was dirty and covered in filth and answered to Ahmed or something along those lines. I don't wish to profile the family racially, but I can't help but wonder what the protocol is in that culture, where it's acceptable to assault a stranger in a store and no apologies are necessary?
He squeaked at the last moment, diverting my attention from the product hooks, down at him. Sadly, it wasn't quick enough, as the little f*cker struck me hard in the shin with some kind of club, then scurried away around the corner. The assault never hurt as much as the bewilderment of why a parent would, not only allow their child to run amok in a shopping venue, but also allow them to hit strangers?
"Seamus!" the mother called, with a thick Irish accent from the far end of the aisle, "Come back here at once, boy!" I looked up at her, failing once more to hear the little bastard come up to me from behind, and strike me once more, this time on the back of my left leg, spinning me around to catch his eyeing me up for a third swing.
"Stop playing with that man and come here." his mother shouted again, never addressing the fact that her little tyrant had struck me twice and was vying for a hat trick. "Really?" I uttered in her direction, insinuating that we were not engaged in a game of folly, but in what could be construed as a violent exchange.
I heard a clank and looked back to see the little guy drop his golf club and reach out towards me like a hungry zombie craving fresh meat. I flung my hands up and told him to get away from me. I wasn't afraid of him, obviously, as I could crush him under my foot like the little pest that he was, but these days, you can't be too cautious when it comes to Stranger Danger.
Finally, grandma came and grabbed him by the arm, and drug him back to his mother's cart, leaving the small metal golf club behind. I stared at them blankly, waiting for the apology that would never come.
If I were to be completely honest. the kid wasn't pasty and pale, nor was he named Seamus, His family weren't of Irish decent, but actually appeared to be Middle Eastern. The little boy was dirty and covered in filth and answered to Ahmed or something along those lines. I don't wish to profile the family racially, but I can't help but wonder what the protocol is in that culture, where it's acceptable to assault a stranger in a store and no apologies are necessary?
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