Mr Trick hates you.

She’s away, and while the cat is away, the rats will wreck the place.  I hate people, no lie.  I don’t discriminate, I hate everyone. Simple.

But there are some, some that get my hackles going so far up I stop being me, and look like some kind of demonic dust-bunny.  I hate idiots, I hate spoiled kids and I hate you.  Yeah? What of it? I’m sure, given half a chance, you’d hate me too, it’s the way of the world.

I was brought up in a way that made me learn and made me think for myself.  If I was sent to look for something, and couldn’t find it, my father would storm after me shouting “You better hope I don’t find it child, because if I do, look out.” And “Jesus wept its right there, you blind idiot, how hard was it to lift that box up?” You couldn’t answer, because it would be met with an angry rant about his day and when he was a boy, and probably a smack.  I was brought up in the era of “If you want to cry, I’ll give you something to cry about”  My childhood was confusing. But so was his, and no-one has it anymore, or they don’t seem to.

 I work in a shop, which means I get to see people at their most simple.  They will ask where the whatever is, I point them over to it, over to the 10 feet long, by 3 feet high wall of whatever, and they just stare blankly at it, then come back, and ask me where.  I take them right over to it, trying to avoid shouting at them, controlling years of my dads voice yelling at them in my head, so instead of saying thank you, or looking embarrassed they simply say “You got any *insert particular whatever here*?” No please, no thank you, no manners. 

I used to get a proper smack for that kind of thing. 

They  leave the door open, in winter, I ask them to close it and they just stare blankly at it, like it’ll close if they glare enough, then wander off, no attempt made.  I could almost understand it if it was just spoilt little rich kids who never have to do anything themselves, where mummy and daddy still do everything for them, almost.  But it’s not, these are full grown adults, ones who had the same upbringing as me.  I would rather strain my eyes so hard they bleed looking for something, rather than ask for help, when I do eventually ask, it’s a small embarrassed ask, too ashamed to admit I couldn’t do it myself.  I hold open doors, I pick my feet up, I put things back, I ask nicely and I feel utter horror and self-loathing if I can’t do it myself. 

They say we live and learn, I say we look and learn.  Or we would, if anyone ever bothered looking anymore.  And I’m getting to the stage that I almost want those who refuse to learn to not live.

 My father was in the army, during ‘the troubles’ so when he came home, he was angry, tired and confused.  This meant I and my family often bore the brunt of what we now know to be PTSD.  There was no help then, we got on with it, and coped, because we had to.  We tip-toed round him, keeping him happy and we survived.  But we stayed smart, we took the yelling and we learnt what there was to be taught, we looked and learned, and learned how to cope by ourselves.  I’m not talking survival in the wild, but worse, survival in urban lifestyles, with urban dangers. Like idiots.  My father grew up in a time when it was acceptable, even expected to take a belt or slipper to your kids, I grew up in a time where it was acceptable to take a raised hand or voice to your child, no more, no less. But now children are growing up with none of this, no discipline and no parents.  

The accepted baby-sitter is a Television or Games console; I see endless amounts of 10 years olds playing 18 rated games. There’s a reason they are age rated, they give an idea of the kind of thing that will happen in said game. Blood, violence, disembowelling, swearing and generally not scout-like behaviour.  

I used to work in a games store; we sold games, consoles; the usual child occupier things.  At Christmas a boy, no more than 12, tried to buy a copy of one of the Grand Theft Auto games, they’re 18. For damn good reason. I refused to sell it to him, as is the law.  He shouted, he stomped and demanded. I pointed out that I didn’t care; he wasn’t having the game, so he stomped off, and returned soon after with his dad, who swore and demanded.  Hr declared that he was old enough to buy it for his boy.  Sadly, British law states another little thing; if you know it’s going to go to someone underage, you can’t sell it to that person, either. He swore more, demanded my manager, the manager came, and swiftly, brutally, over-rode me, demanded I sell it to the man; it was his decision, the end. 

How embarrassing, and demeaning, the guy loved every second of my squirming service. 

I pointed out the game was violent, abusive, featured sex, violence, murder; it encouraged rape and murder of prostitutes for their takings. It encouraged you to kill police, steal their cars and run over innocent civilians. It featured swearing, blood, gore, guns and more reasons to wince than a Jimmy Carr show.  He said he knew what his boy could take, that I could keep my silly opinions to myself.  Two weeks later, Christmas was over, and he was back. He threw the game at me, demanded to know why I had sold a violent, abusive game to a child that I knew was under-age. My manager was not there this time; he hid, stayed away and let me deal with it. Thanks mate.

 But this is part of the issue, no one wants to actually interact with their children, especially at Christmas.  Why interact with your own offspring when instead you can dump them in front of a TV, get drunk and whinge about online pornography?  See, it’s easy to put internet blocks up, even my mum can do it, bless her, but parents don’t, they leave their child, unattended, no guards or rules, to play on the internet, then complain that the child, who has had no guidelines or discipline, and minimal parental input, has gone looking for the things they are guaranteed to look for.  Then demand that ALL internet porn is removed, ruining it for those who are sensible with it, like me.  I’m an adult; hence I can watch adult shows and do adult things.  If I had it my way, I would educate my child, not teach, educate.  

There was a story a while ago, of an all-girls school that had a problem with the girls leaving lipstick kisses on the mirrors.  They called all the girls in to explain what a hard time the janitor had of cleaning the lipstick off.  They came, and watched an old man dip his squeegee in the toilet, then wipe the mirror with it.  There were no more kiss marks after that.  See? Teachers and educators.   

This is the problem, everyone wants to have kids, no one wants to be a parent.  A friend of mine is probably the best parent i know, she interacts, educates and broadens horizons.  I would happily present her with the job of Minister for Education of Everyone.  I actually don’t mind her kids, as they have been raised and nurtured, not dragged and yanked into young adulthood.

Humans learn the hard way, bad lessons go deeper, and stay longer.  I’m trying to teach people to learn the soft way, before it turns into the hard lesson no one wants. 

But I still hate you.


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