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This stuff always has to happen when I'm in a hurry...
The guy who cut in front of me in line at the McDonald's is placing a ridiculously elaborate order that possibly involves trying to feed an entire halftime marching band. This is odd in itself, because his only company on this journey is his little girl, a pigtailed sprout who looks to be about four.
What's slowing things down isn't the fact that they've essentially depleted the inventory. No, it's the Happy Meal toy. This week, they're Pokemons. (I saw them in the display case. I never heard of any of them.) Only they don't have the Pokemon she wants. This is her cue to turn on the waterworks. The lady behind the counter went to the box and dug out each individual Pokemon toy and laid them out on the counter so that she could take her pick, but her preference wasn't represented. Now, not only is the child picking up steam, so's Dad, growing increasingly shouty and attracting the sort of attention the he probably doesn't want.
Midpoint in the multigenerational temper tantrum, he demands to know, "Well, why are they on display if you don't have them, then?" (Shouty.)
Dude, even I know the answer to that one. The display is provided by Corporate; the individual store doesn't get to choose how to set it up. It's a multi-week promotion, and they have yet to reach that week in the promotional arc. Also, grow up, sprout a pair, shut your howling daughter up, and get out of the store before you two embarrass yourself any more than is absolutely necessary. (Okay, maybe I added that last bit myself.)
Dad let Little Precious scream herself red-faced for a few more minutes before taking his food and going to his table, and I swear he looked a bit smug when he did. Little Precious was more or less inconsolable the whole time she was there, doing that thing where children try to talk while they wail, resulting in an incoherent string of vowels: "Ooo ah way we muh wuh woh..."
He was still eating when I left - God knows where he was putting it all, but he was plowing through those bags fairly well - and by that time Little Precious was more or less worn out.
I wanted so badly to commiserate with the lady behind the counter. After all, I worked at McDonald's when the toy promotion was 101 Dalmatians. I saw worse tantrums from overweight 50 year old women.
The guy who cut in front of me in line at the McDonald's is placing a ridiculously elaborate order that possibly involves trying to feed an entire halftime marching band. This is odd in itself, because his only company on this journey is his little girl, a pigtailed sprout who looks to be about four.
What's slowing things down isn't the fact that they've essentially depleted the inventory. No, it's the Happy Meal toy. This week, they're Pokemons. (I saw them in the display case. I never heard of any of them.) Only they don't have the Pokemon she wants. This is her cue to turn on the waterworks. The lady behind the counter went to the box and dug out each individual Pokemon toy and laid them out on the counter so that she could take her pick, but her preference wasn't represented. Now, not only is the child picking up steam, so's Dad, growing increasingly shouty and attracting the sort of attention the he probably doesn't want.
Midpoint in the multigenerational temper tantrum, he demands to know, "Well, why are they on display if you don't have them, then?" (Shouty.)
Dude, even I know the answer to that one. The display is provided by Corporate; the individual store doesn't get to choose how to set it up. It's a multi-week promotion, and they have yet to reach that week in the promotional arc. Also, grow up, sprout a pair, shut your howling daughter up, and get out of the store before you two embarrass yourself any more than is absolutely necessary. (Okay, maybe I added that last bit myself.)
Dad let Little Precious scream herself red-faced for a few more minutes before taking his food and going to his table, and I swear he looked a bit smug when he did. Little Precious was more or less inconsolable the whole time she was there, doing that thing where children try to talk while they wail, resulting in an incoherent string of vowels: "Ooo ah way we muh wuh woh..."
He was still eating when I left - God knows where he was putting it all, but he was plowing through those bags fairly well - and by that time Little Precious was more or less worn out.
I wanted so badly to commiserate with the lady behind the counter. After all, I worked at McDonald's when the toy promotion was 101 Dalmatians. I saw worse tantrums from overweight 50 year old women.
um...I might have had every Happy Meal toy from about 1988/89-1998. 
It was our family treat on Saturdays..
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