So, Dave and I were waiting for Beaut’s KFC dinner last night at The Zone. The store was busy and there was a boy, probably around 13 or 14 years old, standing with a younger boy (I assumed it was his kid brother) also waiting for their order. Cute, nerdy little guys with braces and sensible shoes. The kind of boys who were dropped off at the movies by mom and dad, who were well-mannered and respectful. Nice boys. The glass door swung open, letting in a gust of cold, unfriendly air bringing with it a group of fat, shuffling, obnoxious teen hoodlums. No, they didn’t shuffle. They were noisy and annoying from the moment they burst in. They didn’t pick up their lazy feet, which is why I say they shuffled. Lazy little shits. Anyway, one of them, wearing his cap precariously perched on the back of his fat, ugly head, was smoking and looked drunk. Bear in mind that these little twits were no older than 15, if that. He walks into the KFC with his smoke hanging from his mouth, in a wife-beater vest and Adidas tracksuit pants, looking exactly like one of the scallies in Manchester. He pushes past the young nerdy boys and then swings around at them, pushing the one boy and slurring, “How you looking at me bra? How you looking at me BRA!” He pushes the older boy, who is stunned and says nothing. He’s so scared that he’s gone completely silent. I am gobsmacked and stand there, staring. The fat, ugly, smoking little brat turns and looks at us. We look away. Two of the bully’s mates laugh and pull him outside. When we see them outside after we collect our takeaways, they’re fighting amongst themselves outside a clothing store inside The Zone. They sound drunk and totally out of control … I wonder where their parents are. If they even care.
After a nice night out at the movies, I have a really bitter taste in my mouth. How do you make sure your son doesn’t turn into such a horrendous creature? Can you? you prevent it? Could *this* possibly be the face of a future bully? I’ll be damned if I ever let that happen.