Car Ride From Hell Becomes Food Court Bliss

It was Saturday – late morning – I was neck deep in dirty laundry and the riveting Netflix show The Stranger. Only one episode left and it would all make sense . . . hopefully.

My daughters needed (read: wanted) to go to the mall. One needed (read: wanted) new shoes and the other needed (read: wanted) to pick up some new clothes with birthday gift cards.

Even though it was edging upon noon, I was still in my pjs. All I really wanted to do was fold socks and underwear and finish up my show – but these two were hounding me.

I acquiesced: “Alright. Let me put away this laundry and get dressed and we’ll go.”

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I told them I’d even treat them to lunch at the food court. They were happy . . . momentarily.

On the car ride there – things changed. 

Both girls chattered together happily – which doesn’t happen often. I joined into the conversation and was met with deafening silence. There were passive-aggressive sighs and exaggerated checks to their respective phones.

That’s the thing that any parent of a teenager can attest to. There can be pure moments – maybe only seconds really – comprised of good moods and carefree talk. But one stray hormone can stop it all on a dime. And then before you even know what has occurred, those happy kids become filter-free, sharp-fanged creatures feeding on parental upset.

Perhaps buoyed by the promise of a trip to the mall, free shoes, free lunch – they grew overly confident with what they perceived was owed to them and were suddenly and inexplicably annoyed by my necessary presence.

Whatever the case, I wanted the carefree chattering to come back. Hoping to engage them, I asked a question about a song playing on the radio and my head was promptly bitten off for asking such a ridiculous question.

Before I could even wrap my head around this new and decidedly not great atmosphere enveloping the three of us in the car, the situation snowballed into pointed and hurtful sibling bickering.

I attempted to diffuse the situation.

“Come on, guys – stop it. We’re going to have a nice lunch together so please get along.”

Two words were hurled at me from the backseat. Words that cross my personal threshold between harmless backtalk and serious disrespect.

“Shut up.”

I swear you could hear my knuckles crack as I clutched the steering wheel in a death grip. I struck back where I figured it would hurt the most.

“Your phone’s gone.”

But now there was a pall cast over this entire excursion. This light and impromptu shopping trip turned lunch date; this easy breezy treat bestowed upon unsuspecting kids by a busy yet loving mother – was tainted.

I started to stew.

Did I really want to be here in this car, trapped with two ungrateful and entitled teenagers who couldn’t even differentiate between their needs and wants? Who most likely didn’t even realize that a spontaneous foodcourt lunch invitation was by no means my obligation as a parent?

No I did not.

I pined for dryer-warmed underwear and episode #8 of “The Stranger and continued to white-knuckle the steering wheel.

I considered pulling off at the next exit and turning the car homeward bound. But truth be told, I had my newspaper in my lap and had been looking forward to my foodcourt lunch and Saturday sudoku.

Perhaps the vestiges of this off-the-cuff outing could be salvaged in some way. It had happened before – it could happen again.

By the time we pulled into the mall parking lot and began searching for a vacant spot, my mood was back on the rise. The bickering had stopped and while no one was smiling – there wasn’t any glowering either. That seemed promising. I tentatively hoped the cloud had lifted.

As we braved the Arctic wind from car to mall entrance, the pendulum swung once again. I said something and was met by a catty and snarling response. When I turned to face the offender, I came face to face with a self-righteous sneer.

I issued a warning – something tough and hard-hitting; something along the lines of:

“You better watch your tone, Missy”.

There was laughter – and not the joyous and all-inclusive kind; more of a deriding and belittling sort.

This is when an epiphany clobbered me on the head.

When would I EVER go out of my way, spending hard-earned money, wasting precious free time on people so rude, so belittling and just so plain nasty?

NEVER.

Forget for a moment that these rude and belittling beings happened to gestate in my womb. In my day-to-day life, not only would I never take such pointed and insulting behaviour lying down – but I most certainly wouldn’t reward it by offering to take the offenders out to lunch.

At this point in time, we found ourselves standing in the mall entrance with about 30 other individuals bustling nearby. I’d like to say I spoke to my girls calmly yet curtly before striding away with purpose.

But I’m sure mall security video would prove otherwise.

I spat out a jumble of sentences that I can’t distinctly remember but most definitely included phrases peppered with “ungrateful”, “entitled” and “little brats”. I clearly stated there would be no lunch bought and no shoes purchased – and then I stalked away.

After finding a bathroom where I could take some deep breaths and splash water on my face, I exited back into the buzzing food court and made a beeline for the Taco Bell kiosk. I ordered me up some Nachos Supreme, found an empty table in a direct beam of sunlight and flipped through my Saturday newspaper.

Where were my girls? No idea.
Did they end up eating lunch? No idea.

About an hour later, they found me. I happily noted they appeared sheepish and contrite. I also noted they held shopping bags – which meant some hard-earned cash had indeed been spent – just not mine.

I had no desire to make direct eye contact with them let alone partake in conversation – so I stood up and the pair followed a pace behind as we moved through the mall toward the doors leading to our parked car.

Very quiet apologies were spoken to the back of my head. I muttered acknowledgement – though they did nothing to soothe my simmering annoyance and hurt feelings. That was something only time and distance could assuage.

I had wanted a nice, relaxing morning in pjs – folding laundry and concluding The Stranger. But what I got instead – was a quiet lunch all to myself – with nothing but my newspaper and a patch of bright sunlight. It wasn’t my first choice.

But in the end, it was a close second.

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