Friday Firesmith – Please Control Your Crotch Goblins

Sunday, I went to the grocery store. I go in the middle of the afternoon, and it’s literally triple-digit heat out there. This is a good thing; most people will not brave that sort of heat for food. I park well away from the front door, near the cart corral, and in I go. The place is deserted. Almost.

The store recently became possessed entirely of the Satan so they moved everything around. Aisle shuffling, I’m told, increases sales, but it also increases the likelihood of someone pouring olive oil on themselves and setting themselves ablaze. Clean up on aisle four, I mean five, damn, where is the guy on fire?

So I’m staring at the shelves, trying to find olives stuffed with garlic, because it is of the Gods, and there’s a woman pushing a cart. She has two kids in tow, and a Crotch Goblin in front of the cart, pushing back against her. This is the most apt description of children I could possibly imagine. There that woman is, doing her best to buy food for this kid, and there he is, working against her as hard as he can, for no good reason at all. Back in the day, Mom would have beaten me bloody for such behavior, and the people in the store would have had no problems finding what aisle to clean up.

And it would be Summer. I’m just passing through the junk food aisle, because potato chips and I broke up recently, and I don’t want to be on friendly terms with them anymore. Potato chips are proof no matter how much you love someone, they can be really bad for you. But there, ahead, is an entire pack of Crotch Goblins. There’s five, no, six of them, and they’ve fashioned the Goblin Gang, that formation of children that renders any aisle of any store impassible. Yet they are there with two adults. Why didn’t one of the adults keep the Goblins outside, in a car with the windows rolled up, and the AC off, and not create this mess?And it would be Summer. One of the female Goblins, clearly pre-teen, is wearing a thong bathing suit bottom. Her butt cheeks are clearly showing. This is a child, in every sense of the word, and you took her out in public like this?

I don’t bother. I just back up and go around the whole hot mess, wondering if I’m going to run into that kid with a kid in a couple of years. If the Prosti-tot was raised to be a Crotch Goblin, what on earth will her daughter become?

Back into the heat, and into the parking lot, I feel the oven-like intensity of the asphalt. I’ve been working outside in the Summer heat for twenty-six years, and this year is the first time I haven’t had to get out into the open often or for long. I retire this year. I wonder if being inside more has made me more aware of how kids act, or if it’s just part of getting older and have less patience with younger people?
Take Care,
Mike

Mike writes regularly at his site:  The Hickory Head Hermit.
 
Opinions expressed in this article are not necessarily those of the management of this site.
 
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25 thoughts on “Friday Firesmith – Please Control Your Crotch Goblins”

  1. sounds like you were in Wal-Mart ,I thought I was the only one that parked next to the buggy thing and near the end of the parking lot

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    • Hell, no, Barry. I stay the hell away from the front of stores. Keeping away from that sort of traffic is worth the walk. I have a friend who will circle the parking lot a dozen times waiting for a spot closer to the door. Also, he could stand to lose about fifty pounds.

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  2. Mike, I enjoyed this story as I always do. I am unable to get in to your site, unfortunately. Your retirement approaches. . . be careful. I had the wonderful blessing of an early retirement, at 41. I kind of kept busy, but had little purpose or direction. I became bored after three years and bought another company. Fascinating group, but very much a niche service. Then the recession happened and I lost everything – business and private. A part-time job at Home Depot or Ace would have saved me. Don’t retire until you can fill your days with meaning, purpose, and fun. Oh – and do NOT stop writing! – Chris

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    • Chris, damn good advice. I’ve already got a serious job offer and a couple not so serious. But I would really like to know what would happen if I had a whole week to do nothing but write.

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  3. Having once spanked a random child in a grocery store, I think starting them on fire would be much more efficient. Thanks for adding to my morning chuckle.

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  4. I could write a book about this so I’ll just say kids are getting worse because parents are getting worse. I’m getting pretty good at dropping expensive items in deserving carts.

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      • LOL. Not always the parents. I had 3 children and the eldest was always my bane on shopping trips. Here in Oz, we were behind the rest of the world with late night shopping, back then they shut at 5.30pm. I had no choice but to do a grocery shop with a baby in the trolley, a preschooler holding on and the one who bordered on ADHD doing his best to get me judgmental looks from other shoppers.

        Once in a department store, I told ADHD and the preschooler to stand still and hold onto the pram whilst I looked at a rack of clothing. ADHD managed to find an escalator, rode to the top then pressed the big red button which stopped it.

        But call it Karma or whatever, now he has 5 kids of his own 🙂
        What gets me now is the parking in front of stores for people with prams…at large shopping malls sometimes the only vacant bays were a 5 minute walk away. And our prams were the heavy type, not like today’s quick fold up strollers.

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  5. Where the heck do you people live? In my six decades on earth (comprising who knows how many thousands of shopping trips) I’ve literally never seen the kinds of behavior (or clothing) you describe in a grocery store (or any store, for that matter.) And that’s including at least a dozen different supermarket chains and everything from Nordstrom to Kohls to Walmart to Dollar Tree, in Connecticut, California, and (northern, outside the beltway) Virginia. Not to be snarky or make this political but is this more a red-state thing?

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  6. I worked in a supermarket for 26 years. All of this is so true no matter what country you live in. I could write a book about the things I have seen. So glad I left it 11 years ago

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  7. Believe me, I work around small children. The very last thing I want to do on my day off is put up with someone’s crotch goblins. I will go out of my way to avoid them. From asking hostesses at the local restaurant to seat us away from kids, (yeah we get some looks for that) to shopping at midnight.
    They are ill behaved little monsters many times. I find shooting laser-eyed dirty looks sometimes works. That’s only if they have a conscience. If not, well, there’s nothing to cure that.
    I will however compliment people if their kids are well behaved, I feel that goes a long way. The sad thing is, those kids are doing what all kids used to do. Those kids are the stand out kids that I see though, they sit quietly, they have good manners, they wait to speak and don’t interrupt. They don’t demand the parents’ phone or full attention. I always remember those kids. Those feral kids are a dime-a-dozen. Sadly, and getting worse. I’m not sure what the solution is.

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    • Chick, a friend of mine told me I was going to get a lot of flak for this one. But I thought I would hear stories like yours. Waitresses see the very worst of humanity to begin with and the worst of the Crotch Goblins. People will turn their kids loose in public without any regard to what sort of damage those little imps can do.

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      • I recall a time when we took my lovely daughter Krisgo out to a nice Italian restaurant. It wasn’t what you would call fancy, but it was nice for our standards. She was about 3 or 4 I guess and she was not in a good mood. I felt so embarrassed for the ruckus she caused for the other diners. I swore that night that I would NEVER taker her to a nice restaurant ever again. She has gotten better over the years and I will now go out to eat with her without fear of embarrassment.

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  8. I really don’t call them crotch goblins, I call them what they truly are: F**K Trophies!
    You spoiled them rather than learn to deal with a tantrum.
    You spoiled them because you thought they were royalty.
    They represent you as a parent.
    You have them because it is a stigma to do so otherwise.
    You think they make you look good in the church, the community, and at work.

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