Noise Control

If anyone is planning an event in the near future, where a microphone or megaphone might be in order, fear not ... I have the perfect suggestion for you!

A small child. Who lacks noise control. Which, let's face it, is most of them!

I saw a young child in town the other day who was just going for it. Full volume. Yelling. Singing. It was epic. And it reminded me that although my kids have always been pretty easygoing, they haven't always been, well, quiet. At least not at the time that one would wish for it. What was always perhaps the most perplexing and frustrating thing for me was tthat when I needed them to be quiet, they weren't. Yet, when I needed them to speak up so I could actually hear them, they would whisper. Comedians. I swear it gave me bald patches from the pulling that this would provoke.

Anyway, this young one that was just going for it in town the other day reminded me of an incident with my youngest when she was about 4. It was a perfect example of their inability to control their 'gift'.

We had made a stop at the bank as part of a lengthy list of boring and seemingly endless errands. This was never a favourite task for me or for the kids but, alas, it was something that had to be done. These were the days before internet banking, after all. In all the years I have been visiting banks, I will admit that I have never seen one that resembled a party scene (wouldn't that be cool?!), but they're not exactly hush hush like some libraries either. Having said that, whenever we were out in public and especially when we were in somewhat confined spaces such as banks that were rigged with silent alarms, I did like my spawn to at least pretend to exercise some decorum lest they scare the wee Barbie dolls behind the counter and prompt them to trigger said alarm. I would have hated to try and get the kids to sleep on a concrete slab in a jail. Although their father can sleep anywhere, anytime, they were a little more pampered so would require at least a sheet.

I digress.

So, on the day in question, we stopped at the bank and the kids ran (yes, really) to their normal corner where the bank had supplied some rather ancient-looking Fisher-Price toys that were probably holding enough germs and viruses to kill off an entire third world country. I stood in the long line, looking as bored as I possibly could in the hopes that the Barbies would hurry up and get me through the line. In front of me in the line was an acne covered teenager humming along to his iPod (told you this story was old!), a rather good looking guy in a power suit who drove up in a compensation car, and a pinched looking woman who looked like the broom that was normally stored up her ass had in fact been pushed up so far it was about to fill the hole left by her shrunken heart.

I knew right away that this broom cupboard of a woman was going to be an issue, but I hoped my instincts were a little further off than they usually are. Sure enough, the youngest spawnlet decided that the bank would be the perfect place to test out her vocal range. Top of the lungs, completely made up lyrics.

I shushed her a couple of times and her sister tried to clamp her hand over her mouth and nose to smother her into silence but she would not be dissuaded. I got closer to the front of the line and I could see the acne boy, the Barbies, and the power suit stifling giggles at her little ditty so I didn't bother shushing her anymore. In fact, my extreme blush (think lobster red) was disappearing and I was approaching a semi-normal complexion. I was happy to have scored such an amazing crowd of people, happy that I was not being chased with pitchforks for bringing this hellion into their midst and disturbing the peace.

And then...

Broomstick lady finally finished up her business and was heading toward us to leave the bank. I really hoped she was going to be her proper little British self and keep walking.

Nope.

Broomstick lady: "May I suggest that the next time you bring your ... children <said with incredible scorn> ... into a public place like this, that you keep them within an appropriate range and actually control them?" (all said in her snippy little way)

Me: "uhhhhhhhh" (yeah, I'm a little slow on the uptake)

Broomstick lady: "I really have no wish to be subjected to this ... noise <there's that scorn again> ... when I come into the bank and expect peaceful quiet to conduct my business."

Power Suit Guy: **GASP**

Acne Boy: **BUG EYES**

Barbies: **GAPING MOUTHS**

I looked directly at her, balled up my fist, and sang "Another One Bites the Dust" at full volume before punching her in the face. "How's that for peaceful, bitch?!"

Actually, I stood there dumbfounded while she waddled off with the broom sliding further up her ass by the second. Of course, by now, my youngest was perfectly quiet. She was too busy watching me get bitched out to continue with her song. She waited until we got to the supermarket to continue ... where she found a few other preschool aged kids to join her. They had a world tour planned but some of the parents wouldn't sign off.