Creepy Mime Tactics

             I have unexpectedly come to the conclusion that if I was to be anything other than a writer, it would have to be a pediatrician.  ‘Cause I love babies and little kids—not like that—and I know it isn’t kids at their finest.  But it is all about getting them over this bump in the road and back to their finest.  I think that would be an admirable job.  I could see getting excited to go to work everyday.

            And if for some reason pediatrician didn’t work out for me, I want to be a receptionist at a pediatrician’s office.  ‘Cause that waiting room needs a frikkin’ bouncer.  It needs a security staff.  Them kids are out of control, man. 

They get in there to see the doctor and it’s one on one and they’re scared of you and scared of what you’re going to do, it’s different.  A room full of kids with nobody paying attention to them but other kids,  it’s a bloody battle zone. 

I wouldn’t let it escalate to that.  If I was the bouncer, I’d keep them little brats in their seats alright.  I wouldn’t dress like a clown, but I’d get their attention.  I’d dress like one of them creepy porcelain dolls, like a colorful mime, with a frowny face, and I’d stare them down as soon as they walked in the door.  And I wouldn’t talk.  I wouldn’t ever say words, much less full sentences, when kids are around.  But I would stand in the corner and make some noise.  High pitched with my lips pressed shut, “Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm…” staring ‘em down. 

They’d be the quietest kids, if they weren’t crying. 

Some of ‘em you’d have to check their pulse for proof of life, if they weren’t visibly trembling.

I’d keep ‘em under control, you better believe it.