Perhaps the lady had seen one too many episodes of "Super Nanny," or whatever that show's called. Perhaps she had forgotten her medication, or maybe she was just nuts.
I went to the post office the other day for two stamps to mail some bills. That's all I needed, just two stamps. As usual, though, the stamp machine was on the fritz. Whoever designed those worthless things must be the same genius who engineered the Yugo.
So, with Plan A impossible, thanks to cutting-edge federal technology, it was time for Plan B. Off I went to take my place in the dreaded line.
The folks who work there did their best to keep the queue moving. They were (and are) unfailingly polite and helpful even when dealing with patrons who could barely express what they wanted, couldn't find their money or a clue, etc. If you've never had a job where you had to deal with the public, fall to your knees and give thanks.
While awaiting my turn, I saw the lady at the end of the counter. She was accompanied by a cute little girl of perhaps 7 or 8 years old, who was holding a small tote bag. It's significant that I noticed the adult first and not the child. That basically explains everything, which you will understand in a minute.
The reason the lady drew my attention in the first place is that she was lecturing the little girl in the same sort of tone that I've heard the hefty nanny use on the promos for the out-of-control-kids TV show. The woman was telling the girl to put her things back in the bag immediately and to stop it, whatever "it" was. I don't know what the child had taken out of the bag, but I doubt it was an AK-47 or a rattlesnake or even a water pistol. I never saw anything. I never saw her do anything.
Every shift of the youngster's posture or gentle twirl of her tote bag drew another icy rebuke from Mommie Dearest. When the child fidgeted, she was ordered to emulate the grown-ups waiting more or less patiently in line. When she moved again, she was informed that her behavior was "unacceptable" and was told which privileges she could expect to lose on the return to their happy home that afternoon. With every new criticism, the poor child looked more confused and more miserable.
The little girl was not being disruptive, she wasn't running wild, and she was certainly not misbehaving. I never heard a peep out of her. Momma, however, is another story. The alleged adult was making no attempt at all to be discreet. Instead, every person standing in line and every postal worker manning the counter could hear her constant criticisms and threats, which I believe is exactly what she wanted. People behind her looked at one another with raised eyebrows and expressions of mild disgust. I wanted to grab her by the shoulders, shake her and ask, "What the (insert your preferred expletive here) is wrong with you?"
I've heard of Munchausen's syndrome by proxy, a rare psychological disorder that causes a parent to secretly harm a child in order to gain sympathy and attention. I wonder if there's a version of the malady where a parent hopes to win respect and admiration for publicly berating a youngster. Maybe the twisted thinking goes like this: Strangers will see me correcting my child and thus will know what a loving and concerned parent I am.
As the lady left, a woman standing behind me said, "Sometimes it ain't the kids. It's the parents."
Amen to that.
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