Not even THE FORCE can stop the DARK SIDE

The child was on the floor screaming; I could hear him even before I walked into the store and the cacophony only increased to near-fever-pitch once I stepped in. A scan of the room gave me all the information I needed. No, there was no torture in process, no one had trapped a hand in the door, slipped and bumped a head. No, there was no such drama. The source of the screaming, the catalyst for it, stood before me as large as life...Literally.

The child was red in the face, almost as red faced as the parent tying in vain to quiet the little terror the young chap, a little blonde boy of around 4 years old. As I walked in she looked around almost wild-eyed and our eyes locked for a moment. I readjusted my face into what I hoped was a sympathetic arrangement and I caught what I took for exasperation and a murderous intent great love and concern for her child in the tortured apologetic expression she flashed back at me, however I can't be sure.

And so began my visit to the toy store.

I manoeuvred around the debacle playing out on the floor over what I suspected was the kids desire to have the Storm Trooper, whilst, to my shame, thinking "better you than me," about the parent trying to gather up the babbling mess on the floor.

I spared a glance at the Lego Storm Trooper and for a moment thought how nice it would be if he could blast the little shit into oblivion with his blaster kneel down and offer the child some solace and a few kind words of encouragement. But alas he was just Lego, and that blaster surely wouldn't melt that kid into a greasy puddle on the floor.

I remember as a young child on one or two occasions when my mother had to give me a little motivation to clean up my act, and by act I mean cease the tantrum I had entered into with the hope of receiving the chocolate bar or toy I was tantruming over. What was the motivation? Well, a clip around the ears of course! Not a beating MMA-style, but a little clip, slap on the legs or some such motivational reminder involving physical contact.

Whilst walking through the toy shop listening to the screaming boy I wondered what result some of my mother's motivation may have on the boy. These days of course a parent is likely to get locked up, or at least denigrated on Facebook, should they administer the same shut-the-hell-up-motivation as did my mum many years ago.

As I pondered that and perused the shelves of toys looking for the gift I was after the screaming subsided somewhat and became a more mournful wail. It was marginally less annoying although I still wanted to rush over there and administer some of my-mother's-style of anti-tantrum technique placate the boy with some soothing words, however how could I possibly interject between the mother and the lad? Of course I would never presume to do so.

Several minutes later I was ready to leave the store and as I gathered the small bag containing the toy I had purchased I realised the woeful wailing had ceased. I walked towards the door and saw the little shit boy holding a very large box of Lego with a huge grin on his face. Chalk up one for consumerism and the society that rewards bad behaviour and mediocrity.

I didn't look at the parent as I walked by for fear that my face may wear a disapproving look. It wasn't my place to do so as people all parent differently however I admit that I felt annoyed that the annoying little bastard young child had gotten his way...A habit that will probably become ingrained moving forward.

...If only that Storm Trooper could spring to life and blast that kid, I thought guiltily as I left the store...