Parenting in Public . . .and All That It Entails

After two years working at a grocery store and five years working at a restaurant, I am well-versed in parenting in public. I've seen the scolding, the threatening, and even the public spankings. I've seen the hissy fits, the laughing fits, and the parents' fits. I've had four year olds tell me "Please" and "Thank you, Ma'am" for every motion I made, and I've also had four year-olds who threw themselves to the (questionably clean) ground because I wouldn't let them run my register. After twelve years of various stages of employment, I've learned the hard way how to maintain patience at work (for the most part), accept the crazy parenting methods of the world at large, and, of course, keep a surgical mask on hand for potential cleanup issues. Yet the real result of my many experiences is not my own expertise on working in public venues, but rather it is what not to do with my own child. Unfortunately for Ellie, my overly precautious parenting methods often mean she doesn't get to go anywhere at all. Allow me to defend myself.

I was fifteen years old when I began bagging groceries under the illustrious title of "Courtesy Clerk" at Fareway. For $5.50 an hour I bagged groceries, unloaded carts and loaded cars, and "faced" shelves by pulling all the products to the front. After two months of older customers snapping at me for not asking the tired-and-long-since-extinct question of "Paper or plastic?" and teenagers trying to "get to know me" so that I would vouch for their age at the tobacco counter, I was sure I would spend my adult years running a home-delivery business for groceries just to alleviate the pressures of the overworked and underpaid courtesy clerks. Then, of course, came the day I'll never forget: the Day the Toddlers Wouldn't Stop. It was amazing.

I had heard toddlers screaming in stores before, and I had seen countless kids come through the aisles, but once summer break hit I found myself working day shifts as early as 7am. I quickly learned that with the day shifts also comes the day customers, aka the day moms with their day kids and day frustrations. Lord help us all. (Side note: I am by no means suggesting that all daytime mothers and their children are like this, but the population is large and far-reaching. If you are taking offense already, this probably applies to you.) Cart after cart came through the aisles with screaming children, crying toddlers, and a whole hoarde of terrorizing tyke tyrants in between. There were some respectable moms who, upon seeing the imminence of midget mutiny, hurried back out of the store, reprimanded their children until they succombed to good behavior, or a combination of the two. Unfortunately for me and my fellow employees, these mothers were more the exception than the rule.

The most amazing part of this day, however, was not that these children were so awful, and it wasn't even that the mothers were so awful at handling their children. Instead, it was amazing to see the sense of entitlement that seaped through every person, patron, and parent. They not only allowed their children to behave in such uncontrollable fashions, but they walked along blithely as though no one else in the world was affected by their scenario. A few mothers even commented to each other on how they would only be in the store "a few minutes" so surely the employees could handle it (all the while failing to realize that each employee was treated to eight hours of tantrums that would only last "a few minutes," because just as one tantrum ended, a new child was sure to arrive with a new objection to be voiced to the world). After three months of bagging and an ill-fated return later in life to spend a year running a register, Fareway and its customers single-handedly cost my daughter nearly any chance she had of going to the grocery store.

I have similar stories to tell after working at a pizza place in a mall food court, but my best stories will come from years of waitressing at a steakhouse all too often treated as the angus answer to Chuck E. Cheese. Rest assured, more stories to follow. They will undoubtedly make you laugh, grimace, and reconsider ever eating in another public venue.