buttercupfestival.com
27.1.09
16.1.09
hello again
I was in a fast food restaurant eating a bacon cheeseburger combo today when a man sat his kid down in the booth next to mine and then went up to order.
I was trying to read at the time, and as such was too cool to look up.
The father came back a few moments later and informed his son that the restaurant was all out of chocolate sundaes and inquired if a vanilla one would alright.
Apparently that would not be alright because the kid curled himself into a ball and began to cry.
The Father insisted that if the boy didn't stop making a scene and decide on whether or not a vanilla sundae would suffice, then they would leave.
The kid, calmed himself down enough to whimper a begrudging grunt of affirmation that satisfied his father enough that went off back to place the new order.
The boy sniffed for a moment, then sat upright with his hands on the table, and exclaimed loudly in a mournful tone that far exceeded both his predicament and age: "Why do these things always happen to me!?!" And pounded his hands on the table a bit, and then collapsed weeping, his head buried in his hands.
What was striking about it to me is that what I got from the kid wasn't childish anger, but rather incredibly deep and genuine despair. His life was now a sea of anguish, he would have to settle for a vanilla sundae.
I was watching all of this out of the corner of my eye, and laughing almost audibly at this point. He turned to me for a second, either because he'd barely heard me chuckling, or just out of realization that his dramatic soliloque had taken place right in front of me. I glanced up for a plit second, up as if I had noticed him turn in my direction. I really got a good look at him then [generally I creep with my peripherals] and I realized that he was a little punk. His black tuque was all covered with a tiny skull pattern, and he had on a baggy blacksweatshirt. I didn't look up long enough to see how old he was, but he was glaring at me and his scowl made him look around six or seven, too old at least to be weeping so sincerely. All of this only made it funnier, so I went back to my book more sericously so that I would stop being such a creeper. Which must have worked, because I can't remember how the vanilla sundae was recieved or how or when they left.
ALSO: My internet's back up in my house, so I'll start posting now and again.
I was in a fast food restaurant eating a bacon cheeseburger combo today when a man sat his kid down in the booth next to mine and then went up to order.
I was trying to read at the time, and as such was too cool to look up.
The father came back a few moments later and informed his son that the restaurant was all out of chocolate sundaes and inquired if a vanilla one would alright.
Apparently that would not be alright because the kid curled himself into a ball and began to cry.
The Father insisted that if the boy didn't stop making a scene and decide on whether or not a vanilla sundae would suffice, then they would leave.
The kid, calmed himself down enough to whimper a begrudging grunt of affirmation that satisfied his father enough that went off back to place the new order.
The boy sniffed for a moment, then sat upright with his hands on the table, and exclaimed loudly in a mournful tone that far exceeded both his predicament and age: "Why do these things always happen to me!?!" And pounded his hands on the table a bit, and then collapsed weeping, his head buried in his hands.
What was striking about it to me is that what I got from the kid wasn't childish anger, but rather incredibly deep and genuine despair. His life was now a sea of anguish, he would have to settle for a vanilla sundae.
I was watching all of this out of the corner of my eye, and laughing almost audibly at this point. He turned to me for a second, either because he'd barely heard me chuckling, or just out of realization that his dramatic soliloque had taken place right in front of me. I glanced up for a plit second, up as if I had noticed him turn in my direction. I really got a good look at him then [generally I creep with my peripherals] and I realized that he was a little punk. His black tuque was all covered with a tiny skull pattern, and he had on a baggy blacksweatshirt. I didn't look up long enough to see how old he was, but he was glaring at me and his scowl made him look around six or seven, too old at least to be weeping so sincerely. All of this only made it funnier, so I went back to my book more sericously so that I would stop being such a creeper. Which must have worked, because I can't remember how the vanilla sundae was recieved or how or when they left.
ALSO: My internet's back up in my house, so I'll start posting now and again.
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