Thursday, January 26, 2012

Paging Paul Blart, Mall Cop!

As you know by now, I have been having trouble with Charlie. His brother's heavy rehearsal and show schedule--not to mention the long commute to the venue--took a toll on Charlie and me. We had been hanging out at the same cafe practically every afternoon and evening while Christopher was busy with A Christmas Carol. Though my son and I really like the cafe, the food and drink offerings, the staff, couches, and board-game selection, it just gets to the point at which ENOUGH IS ENOUGH. So one night during a performance--we had already seen the show at full price ($25 total, no discounts for family members of performers, BOO!)--I decided to mix things up by taking him to a movie at a mall.

From past experience, I've learned to buy my kindergartener a gumball on the way TO the theater. (Hint: His incessant whining about wanting one ruined a perfectly good showing of "Shut Up," I mean, Up one day. I'd promised it to him AFTER the movie, but that wasn't soon enough for my Charlie.)

His oral needs now met, I bought us tickets to Alvin and the Chipmunks: Chipwrecked and some snacks. Off to the theater we went. The film was light and enjoyable. Following a stop in the restrooms, it was time to return to the Salem YMCA where Christopher was wrapping up his holiday musical.


But Charlie had other ideas.

He wanted to play arcade games. We really didn't have time, and I didn't have any quarters on me. Of course, that didn't matter to Charlie. He sat down at one game with a steering wheel and simulated playing. Then he jumped off and ran to another and another and another. He refused to come with me. Speaking in a voice that means business, I began: "Charlie, Christopher is going to be waiting for us. We can't leave him alone at the Y after everyone else has left!" Regretfully, irritating me was Charlie's concept of fun. He was exerting his independence; he was determined to call the shots.

I couldn't physically remove him from the arcade area of the theater as he was too big and active for me to carry. And he certainly wouldn't agree to a piggyback ride. Plus, I am flat-out unwilling to pull him along because I hurt my back last winter. My injury caused months of aggravation, not to mention costly physical therapy. No way, no how.  

With no other recourse, I turned to the man taking tickets and asked if he could speak to my unruly offspring. He directed me to customer service. This somewhat perplexed woman then came over and gently asked Charlie to go with me. Are you kidding me? Charlie was loving every minute of this! Just eating up the attention, running around in circles, and laughing his little ass off. Meanwhile, I was getting angrier and louder. People were staring. I informed Charlie that I was leaving. I had to pick up my other son.

I walked toward the theater's exit. Charlie tentatively followed way behind. We emerged into the mall and turned in the direction we came. But he was not done tormenting me. He whirled around and skipped back into the theater as blithe as could be. Increasingly frustrated, I pursued him all the way back to the small videogame area. He was still laughing, just having way too much fun. Again I marched over to the customer-service counter. This time I requested security. The same woman appeared, and the same scene ensued. This time, fighting mad, I stormed out of the theater lobby. Charlie, perhaps fearing I would abandon him, tagged along at a rebellious distance.


We headed down the mall's center aisle together for the second time. Well, as much together as a seething mother and defiant child could. All we had to do now was pass the remaining distractions between the theater and mall exit, and we would be home free. Or, rather, closer to the car. Charlie would not be tempted by the food court, coin-operated kiddie rides, or cute puppies in the pet-shop window since they were in the other direction. Smooth sailing, right? Wrong! I forgot about The Jumpy Thing. No, I swear I'm not making up that silly name for the attraction that appears to be a cross between a trampoline and bungee jump. I had permitted Charlie to have a go the previous time we came to the mall. No surprise, he loved it.

Like the gumball machines, passing The Jumpy Thing proved to be too difficult for Charlie. He wanted to do it, natch. ABSOLUTELY NOT. He stopped dead in his tracks and wouldn't budge. Man, this child drives a hard bargain! I looked around for someone to help me. Not twenty feet away was an information kiosk with a woman in attendance. I asked her to call security. Not theater security any more, MALL security.

Paging Paul Blart, mall cop!

This situation had taken on a ridiculous dimension. Did any of my friends ever have to call mall security to get their child to leave with them? No. Had I ever even heard of such a thing? No. Thank the Lord no one I knew saw us, I think. Sure, we had left a trail of "scenes" in plenty of places: REI, while his brother tried on winter jackets; Walgreens, while I designed our holiday card at the photo machine; Bradford Mountain, while I registered him for group ski classes; and on and on and on.

Knowing how he can behave, I'd have much rather not brought my son along on these errands. But I am a 24/7 single mother. The overwhelming majority of the time I have no choice. Nevertheless, in these previous instances and all others, I had been eventually able to persuade Charlie to come with me. I hadn't needed to call in OFFICIAL BACKUP!

We had reached a new low. Mall security is one step away from real-world security, i.e. the police. The information-kiosk woman didn't take me seriously when I put in my request. All she saw was an angel-faced young boy. But I knew better. Don't underestimate my tough little dude who has not an ounce of fat on him!

Where was Kevin James when I needed him?!

If he had shown up, my evening would have turned right around. If not Kevin, someone equally large and definitely someone atop a Segway--the modern version of riding in on a white horse to rescue yours truly damsel in distress from being held hostage in a mall by her very own mischievous kindergartener!


No such luck.

After a very long wait--during which time Charlie found the light-up section of floor kids stomp on--two average-looking men in uniform casually sauntered over on foot. Oh, come on! Is this the best you've got? Addressing the men, I explained the problem, unequivocally stating that I needed an AUTHORITARIAN figure to set my son straight. My Average Joes, however, failed to deliver the necessary gravitas. They meekly suggested to Charlie that he go with me. He said no. Well, duh! What did you expect, Mr. and Mr. Keeping The Mall Safe?! Thus began some ineffectual badgering. Are these security guards not trained for this sort of thing? I'm shocked!

With time rapidly dwindling before Christopher would be taking his bow, I made it crystal clear that I--Christopher's mother--must go get him. I didn't know how long the performers and their parents would remain in the costume room after the show. And I was not willing to let my eight year old stay alone in a city YMCA without any knowledge as to why his mother had failed to pick him up on time. "I'm leaving, Charlie!" I said firmly. 

"You'd better go with your mother," offered one of the mall cops. 

I turned and hastened toward the front entrance. When I reached the doors, I looked back to see if Charlie was behind me. He was. 

The power struggle was over . . . for now.

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