One of my semi-frequent gripes at work is at the expense of moderately pubescent boys who can’t act their age. In this I mean boys well into their double digits who should just should know better. They do dangerous things on the equipment because TESTOSTERONE!, and only make the kids want to replicate their “coolness”/pay no attention to the fact that there ARE dozens of small children running around and jump off high places with no notice that they nearly crushed a four-year old’s cranium.
And so we come to today, where boys who were maybe twelve were showing off what huge balls they grew in the last week by jumping off of the slide and over the teeter-totter and just being jackasses. They come to “rest” on a toddler’s piece of equipment near me and the Safari Squad (i.e., Key and H and I).
“Hey, guys – knock that off, you’re going to hurt the kids.”
This macho man in a green hoodie on a 78 degree day, with matching knit puff-ball hat with (so manly) skulls on it looked around to his only – gratifyingly silent – companion, as though I’d just said the dumb/funniest thing ever and boy was I going to be mocked on Facebook later to his girlfriend. “How?” He drawls.
“By running into them. Now get off.”
Apparently, he was shocked I could respond to such a SCATHING opener, because he fumbled for a moment. “Uh, dude, this is a park, it’s for everyone.”
“Uh, dude, I’m staff, get down.”
“Fine.” And he scuttled off with manly indignation to show his adultness by (I shit you not), climbing a tree.
Oh yeah, bitch. Your teenage snark is no match for the fact that I don’t rely on my mom to drive me places.
Also, my backspace key is broken (really need to get a new computer now, apparently the battery is officially dead), and I sprained my ankle. It’s been a mixed up week. There’s even more drama, but we’ll save it for a drama starved period.