Dear Twit,
You. Yes. You. Yesterday, in the Employment Department office, with a ten-month-old kid which, judging by how much it's fussing, you haven't fed or cleaned in a while.
Yeah, you. You read that right; you are a twit...well, no, actually, I know several more appropriate words for you, but they're not the sorts of words that a sensible individual with hopes for employment puts on his professional blog, so we're gonna go with 'twit.' You are a twit for many, many reasons, and tragically enough, it seems no one has informed you of this! That is a grave oversight indeed, and one I am here to remedy.
First of all, I can only assume you are some relation of this child. I mean, you look like it, insofar as I (who think babies look a bit like golems fashioned, from mashed potatoes, to look like a larval form of Winston Churchill) can tell. You're of an age to be its mother or perhaps its much-older sister; possibly, you're its aunt.
No matter your relation to this squirming, squalling bundle of recently-formed humanity, the fact remains that you are responsible for it. You are an adult with two functioning arms, and enough higher cranial capacity to touch-type and to navigate the internet. You can feed it, comfort it, and change its diapers. It's a ten-month-old baby. It can't do any of this. It can't even talk, for which I'm grateful because, if you're any measure for your family's tendencies, once it starts it will never shut up. The most it can do is what it was doing - wriggle, screech, whimper and otherwise make a fuss.
This brings us neatly to second-of-all. Not only were you neglecting your responsibility, thus prolonging the discomfort of another living being, you were doing so in a public place where multiple people are required to concentrate on something financially, legally and personally important, namely gaining employment. Presumably, since you were there for the same purpose, you realise that this really is important! News flash: listening to your baby fuss, and, because I have a conscience, worrying about its well-being does not really provide a positive aid to concentration!
Neither does listening to you, every minute and a half (yes, furch-for-brains, I timed you!) glaring at it and whining "stooooop!" or, for a change, "stop iiiiiit!" That's even worse! As previously mentioned, YOU'RE AN ADULT. YOU HAVE THE POWER TO SOLVE THIS PROBLEM. By the same token, you have the power to refrain from exacerbating. It's a really easy power to exercise, too, in that all it requires is exhibiting greater maturity than a ten-month-old!
Much as it pains me to admit, I don't object to the fact that you brought your young child to the employment center. My personal distaste for babies is just that; personal, and thus not a standard to impose on anyone else, or even to opine on unasked-for. Similarly, your decision to reproduce is personal. I don't know you, I don't know your circumstances, it's not my place to judge and so I'm not going to. Even your decision to bring the fruit of that reproduction with you to a public forum requiring quiet and calm is something I can empathise with. For all I know, you can't afford a babysitter...certainly in your place, I couldn't. Lacking steady employment is awful even for a single, childless person - to put it tritely, my heart really does go out to un- or under-employed parents.
What I object to (and what everyone else there objected to, going by the glares from all quarters, to which you somehow remained oblivious) is you bringing your neglected child to the employment center. That's cruel to the child and incredibly distracting, irritating, and flat-out rude to the rest of us. If it's symptomatic of your overarching treatment of this child, it kind of scares me, both for the kid and for those who will, in the future, be required to interact with it. Kids learn from their elders. You're teaching it rudeness and irresponsibility. Please cut it out.
Thanks,
That grump on the computer at the end of the row
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