Tuesday, February 23, 2010

What are you complaining about, drunky?

I usually avoid going out on weekends and Monday holidays like Britney Spears avoids underpants*, but I decided to go to a playground in Noe Valley on President's Day. First of all, I really wanted to meet some out-of-town friends for a rare playdate and, second, I figured everyone would be busy celebrating at their local Toyota dealer, as is tradition in this country. I must have misjudged the economic repercussions of the whole gas-pedal-of-death thing because the playground was quite full. It wasn't so full that the girls couldn't have a good time, but it was full of people who don't normally go the playground.

At first, I was kind of glad to be surrounded by non-regulars because Snappy has developed quite the little rep as "The Kid Who Thinks Other People's Babies are Her Personal Baby Dolls and Will Not Hesitate to Undress and Redress Them" (I'll take this opportunity to apologize to the nannies and moms and dads of babies that my child has hurt/violated), but then Something Happened. The other moms and I were standing around, chatting about stuff that moms usually talk about like...I don't know...pop tarts and hot water bottles? Anyways, we were all chatting like we were on the Group W bench, when we heard a loud, aggro, slightly hung-over male voice say:

"Will the mom of the little boy banging on that pole please tell him to stop!"

It was at that point that we noticed that a little boy was banging on a pole...it wasn't like it wasn't loud, it was just that it melted into the noises that one expects (or should expect) at a busy playground on Gas Pedal of Death day. I looked from the little boy to the source of the complaint, a middle-aged man playing tennis (TENNIS!) on the adjacent court. I stared at him, befuddled beyond belief. It defied logic. Here was this guy, making a rhythmic, loud sound in a public place, complaining about someone else making a rhythmic, loud sound. Thankfully, one of the moms immediately told this guy that 1. he was crazy and 2. he could forget about it and 3. he was also really, really crazy. And then of course the mom of the little boy told him to stop because moms don't like it when their kids bother people, even stupid people who don't see that there is no difference between Thwap Thwap Thumpty Thwap and Bang Bang Bang.

I never really recovered from my shock and befuddlement to ask that tennis playing dude where the hell he got off--which is too bad because I'm still wondering--, but I it did make me think about all of the many other jerks who really have no business complaining:

  • Anyone who has ever walked drunkenly down a residential street at 3 am, loudly talking and/or complaining about "That One Ho at the Bar" should never, ever be allowed to complain about the crying baby at the restaurant/mall/wine bar. Sorry, but you did the crime, now do the time.
  • Anyone who has ever gotten on an airplane and then put their seat back so that they are, essentially, sitting in the lap of the person behind them and then leaving it like that for the duration of the flight is not allowed to complain about the kid kicking the back of their seat. Really? You don't like my daughter's Dora sneakers hitting your lower back? Well I don't like your dandruff falling onto my pretzels...so deal with it.
  • Anyone who has ever asked a women to show her tits at Mardis Gras in Nola, or at a motorcycle weekend or in a restaurant/mall/wine bar (or has ordered anything from the cretins over at Girls Gone Wild) has no business complaining about public breastfeeding. This is non-negotiable.
  • Anyone who has ever, during a night of drinking** and/or sushi bingeing, left bodily fluids (or good forbid solids) on a public sidewalk has no business complaining about parents who change diapers in public. Okay, yeah, I'm sure it's gross but so is stepping in chunks on your way to the bus stop in the morning.

I'm sure there's more...please leave them in the comments.

*For those of you expecting a balloon drop, this was actually only the 99th joke this blog has made about the fact that Britney Spears occasionally goes out sans poonani shield, but thanks for playing.

**Yes, I know there are two of these based on drunks, but, just like babies are just like little stoners (look at this pretty thing! No, don't eat it, just look at it!), little kids are like drunks...and we have to put up with them because, come on, we've all been there.