Guest Post: Tween-age Throwdown.

You may have seen my PSA on facebook this evening... well I'm looking for a female or two to help me keep up blogging since work has been taking up a lot of my time. I got a little interest, and some things in the works BUT I also have a little taste for you all right now.


A friend of mine, who happens to be the big sister of my first ever friend in the shit show state (aka florida), expressed some interest in guest posting. Let's just call her... Jackie... ::cough::i don't use pen names::cough::


Jackie has a whole other perspective on life that I don't because a) she's married and b) she's a mom. And after reading her story, I've decided she's an AWESOME mom. Well, miss Jackie had a run in with some "undesirables" recently, and this is her story;

Tweens. There’s no sugar-coating it: I hate them. I hate everything about them. I hate the word “tween.” I hate the get-away-with-everything-attitude; the shorts that even strippers think are too short to wear in public; and the voices - my God, the voices. It’s like the Devil decided that he would extend the torture of Hell and created a single pitch that would instantly drive any decent human being into a murderous rage. Maybe it’s the old lady in me talking, but it embarrasses me to high heaven to know that, at some level, I used to act like that.

The funny thing about tweens is that they don’t seem to realize care that EVERYONE hates them - up to, and including, their own parents. You wanna know why your parents started embarrassing you as a teenager? Because you were an asshole and they wanted to teach you a lesson. Sometimes though, parents can’t do it themselves. You need a stranger to step in and lay the proverbial smack-down on your walking douche bag of a child.

Allow me to introduce myself, I am that stranger.

Such an incident happened today, at Wal-Mart. The chit’lins were out of school today. Why? I have no idea, probably for some nonexistent holiday that they got and we didn’t, but whatever, I digress. They must have all decided that the cool place to go was Wal-Mart. Specifically, the self-checkout lane… MY self-checkout lane. So while the rest of us hardworking adults were there spending out hard-earned money on groceries and shit that our families actually need, these three little tweens were busy giggling about something that happened in school, texting on their brand new iPhone4S’s (which I’m sure they have a really good reason for having) and shrieking in their ear-piercing, pre-pubescent banshee voices while raiding the candy aisle, grabbing everything they could possibly think to grab, because they have nothing better to do and their metabolisms let them eat that shit without consequence. For one ridiculous reason or another, they began to engage in a playful shoving match. This leads one of them to shove the other into a frail-looking little old lady in one of those electric wheelchairs.

“Oops! My bad!”

I’m sorry, what? You almost knocked the poor woman out of her chair and all you can muster out of that tiny pea-sized brain of yours is “Oops! My bad!”?? Oh hellz-to-the-no. The following is an excerpt from the verbal beat down that this child experienced:

ME: “You need to apologize to that woman. You could have really hurt her.”

TWEEN IDIOT 1: “I did.”
ME: “You call that an apology? That was pathetic. That was an oops-I-stepped-on-your-toe kind of apology. You need to apologize to her, for real. Or is that lost on your generation?”
TWEEN IDIOT 2: “Um, excuse me?”
ME: “I’m sorry, do I need to repeat myself? Apologize. Now.”
TWEEN IDIOT 1: “I’m sorry.”
ME: “’I’m sorry, MA’AM...’”
TWEEN IDIOT 1: “I’m sorry, ma’am.”
LITTLE OLD LADY: “Thank you, dear. You’re a very kind girl.”
TWEEN IDIOT 1: “Oh, you’re welcome.”
LITTLE OLD LADY: “I wasn’t talking you three, I was talking to her (gestures at me).” *scoots away*
TWEEN IDIOT 3: “Wow, what a bitch.”
ME: “I’m sorry?”
TWEEN IDIOT 3: “Yeah, you should apologize, you had no right to say anything like that to us! And, just to be clear, I called that old hag a bitch.”
ME: “Thank you.”
TWEEN IDIOT 3: “For what?”
ME: “For giving me a really good reason to say this: you three are sad, pathetic wastes of space. I don’t know how your parents look you in the eye, let alone how you look at yourselves in the mirror.”
TWEEN IDIOT 3: “Well, I guess it doesn’t matter, you’re not our mother.”
ME: “And thank the good Lord for that. But I am A mother. And let me tell you something, if my daughter ever acts like you three just did, she will be a level of sorry that you can’t even begin to fathom. Luckily for her, it’s never going to reach that point because the second I see her exhibiting any of the personality traits I just witnessed in you sad sacks of children, I’m gonna beat it right out of her the way your mothers should’ve done to you. And, just so we’re clear, sweetheart, if you think that sweet old lady is a bitch, open your mouth and say something else to me. Please. **SILENCE** Nothing? Good. You’re learning. Now, move.”

Like I said, I hate tweens. Also, I had had a really bad day at work.