Problematic Parenting, Out-of-Control High Drama and Little Mini-Me’s

Sticky Fingers

“Don’t do that, the driver won’t like it,” the young woman lightly commented to the two children in the back seat.

Immediately my thoughts ran wild.

What exactly are they doing in my back seat that I won’t like?

Why was she so matter-of-factly in her comment if it were something I wouldn’t like?

What were these kids doing?

In a sarcastic tone, I heard the woman say, “Real cute. I’m sure the man will be delighted when he finds out what you’re up to back here.”

“Now stop crawling all over the place and calm down,” she gently pleaded as if the double dose of her morning anxiety meds were finally kicking in.

All the while, the sinister laughter and squeals of the two marauders were increasingly getting louder and louder.

RESIST!

Their young souls were in rebellion, the backseat village was under siege, and the queen was fast asleep in her chambers.

I finally interceded in this seemingly well-rehearsed little performance of three lives.

“I’m not allowed to drive if your little ones aren’t fully buckled up in the backseat. I’m pulling over until they’re seated and strapped in safely.”

Dead Silence.

“Excuse me?” “What do you mean?” The woman pressed me.

“I said I’m pulling the car over until the children are safely buckled in.”

The woman wasn’t happy with my decision to interrupt her comfortable and normalized chaos.

“Are my children bothering you?”

Her voice was gearing up for combat.

Before I could respond, she exclaimed, “They’re just kids being kids!”

My first thought was, “So, she is the mother because she referred to them as my children.

The second thought that entered my mind, but thank God, I didn’t utter out loud, was, “Yeah, and what about adults being adults, or parents being parents?”

“Restraint, used wisely, can yield great benefits and minimize great misery.”

The little self-talk mantra neon sign continued to flash brightly.

So, I quickly calculated my response and told her, “I understand. They’re just being kids. That’s my concern. These kids don’t understand they need to be buckled up, and will likely not enjoy being buckled up, but legally, I can’t drive unless they are. Please help me out so we can get you where you’re going.”

“A rules guy. I get it.” Was her snarky reaction to my explanation.

“Yeah, I guess so. I’m the one who’s liable according to the law, so yeah, I want to follow the rules. Also, if the rideshare company finds out, I’m kicked off the platform for safety reasons.”

“Whatever. Go ahead and pull over.”

I found a good place to park the car by the side of the road.

Over the next five minutes, I experienced whining, shouting, and out-of-control behavior from my backseat.

And that was just the mother!

Once I heard the final “click” of the seat belt, I got back on the road.

The crying, thrashing about, and high-pitched arguing in the backseat continued until we finally arrived at our destination.

I thanked the woman for her cooperation as she unbuckled the angry duo and quickly ushered them out of my car.

“I hope you’re happy,” was her final comment, coupled with a crazed stare, as the door slammed.

Deep breath.

Time to access the damage.

I needed to find out what they were doing in the back seat before I accepted my next rideshare.

What were they doing in my backseat while on their carefree rampage?

I drove a few blocks away, parked the car, and opened the rear passenger door.

Well, I’m not officially a detective, but I believe I was able to immediately determine what these two young creatures were snacking on during the ride.

The empty candy wrappers were clear evidence.

The wrappers easily explained most of the smears on the seats and windows.

But what is this?

I looked closer at one interesting smear on the window behind the driver’s seat.

The pieces of bread mixed into the smear helped me to arrive at my conclusion.

Peanut butter and grape jelly sandwich!

I laughed out loud when the words, “Sticky Fingers” popped into my mind.

It’s an inside joke, and if you’re familiar with the rock band, The Rolling Stones, you might get it.

Upon solving the peanut butter and jelly case, I lifted my fist to the air in a short-lived victory cry, only to realize the victor, in this case, is also the clean-up guy.

Based on experience, it was not worth the battle to report the matter to the rideshare platform, and possibly suffer the consequences of “her version” of what happened.

On a scale of one to ten, with one being worse, I would give this person a three for problematic parental discipline.

I felt extremely generous with my rating, as I reached for my water bottle and paper towels.

The clean-up guy was getting ready for his next ride.

Fussing, Cussing, and Little “Mini Me’s”

“Sit your silly ass down before I smack the shit out of you!”

I approximated the little guy who was the target of Mommy’s yelling to be around five or six years old.

He was in the middle of harassing his little sister.

“You’re stupid as shit! You’re an ugly bitch!”

The brother continued screaming demeaning comments at the girl as she attempted to punch him and pull his hair.

“No! You’re the ugly bitch. F*** you!”

The little girl countered her brother’s cruel attacks as tears streamed down her face.

“I’ll beat both of your asses, so shuck the f*** up and sit down!”

The mother continued interjecting into the sibling battle every few minutes as she juggled her phone while applying eyeliner and lipstick.

The backseat madness was complemented by the mother’s frantic speakerphone conversation with another woman. They were loudly talking over the television background noise on the other end of the phone and the fussing, cussing kids in the car.

The phone conversation was a steady stream of F-Bombs, N-words, and other expletives generously shared for me and the young ones to consume during our ride.

The content focused on the men in their lives and their families.

Every so often, when one of the women made a crude comment, such as,” I told him to get the f*** out,” I heard the children echoing the conversation.

“I told him to get the f*** out,” Tiny voices would laughingly shout out.

Little Mini Me’s.

Thankfully, this was a short ten-minute ride to a local daycare.

As we pulled up to the main entrance of the building, the woman ended her phone conversation, leaned toward me, and spoke loud enough for the two kids to hear.

“Sorry about these little mother f***’s. They’re always like this.”

She laughed as if it was meant to be funny.

I didn’t get the humor.

She then proceeded to grab them and pull them out of the car.

“Get the f*** out of the car before I beat your asses!”

And the beat goes on………….

***************

My “Rideshare by Robert” blog continues with new stories, poems, and musings based on my published book, “Rideshare by Robert: Every Ride’s a Short Story.”

The book, and the blog, are short stories about actual rides, observations, revelations, and reflections on the rideshare experience. I hope you find the writings informational, humorous, and filled with compassion for the human family.

My second “Rideshare by Robert” book will include selected blogs published in the Baltimore Post-Examiner.

So, climb in, buckle up, and enjoy the ride.

Welcome to “Rideshare by Robert.”

A place where anything can happen and usually does.

Disclaimer

I have tried to provide anonymity to all individuals portrayed in my writings while maintaining the story’s integrity. The names have been changed to protect the innocent. And, in some cases, the not-so-innocent. I have substituted the characteristics of individuals in my writings to further my attempt to maintain anonymity. Conversations and other details are based on my best recollection and notes. Although I have spent time driving with many celebrities and public figures over the years, I’ve intentionally omitted their names in my writings. I’ve also modified actual locales along with other details such as when and where the rides occurred to maintain my objective of rider privacy and anonymity.