M. Beisenherz: Sorry, I'm here in private - Tantrum at the checkout 3: Let your inner child run wild
Supermarket sociotope. It happened again the other day: like a behavioural scientist, a Konrad Lorenz from the cheese counter, I was able to witness the fascinating spectacle of a screaming four-year-old bullying his mother. Like a fish out of water, he slowly pushed his way between the shelves towards, yes, where did he actually want to go? It was hard to make out what he wanted from the screaming and crying. But he gave the impression that he was interested in sweets.
Mom could see that she was considering several options: 1. calming the little one down with a well-aimed blow with the baguette. 2. respond to the terrorist's demands with a family pack of Toffifee. 3. run away and hope that the kid didn't keep the address of his parents' house.
I was jealous of the child
Meanwhile, the boy in the down jacket crawled screaming on the floor towards checkout 3. Many bystanders pitied the mother - but I was envious of the child. Of this ability to give in so drastically to his very own feeling of dissatisfaction. When exactly do we start to wrap our childlike joy of expression in etiquette until there is nothing left of it? Bubbling happiness, effervescent anger - it's all kind of spilled over. It's almost a bit of a shame. Aren't all the advice books telling us that we just have to give our inner child enough space to run around?
In one of his sensational books, actor and author Joachim Meyerhoff recalls how he was called "the blonde bomb" as a child because of his fits of rage. This predisposition was to erupt from time to time later on. For example, when he vented his displeasure at his mother's new love interest - and smashed up her new husband's carport with a verve that would have impressed even Jens Lehmann. The former national goalkeeper is the last icon of licentiousness. With the temperament of an eight-year-old, he gets his way, drives under the barrier in the parking garage, steals a fan's glasses and uses a chainsaw when something blocks his view.
It makes your eyes water a little and you briefly turn your gaze away from the two-hour YouTube collage of Klaus Kinski's most beautiful tantrums. A German cult madman who is still revered by many today, not because of his "acting", but because he shouted and threw things so wonderfully behind the scenes.
I myself was also blonde as a child, but not a bomb. As a five-year-old, I managed what children try to manage with tantrums with the persuasive charm of a local SPD chairman. Probably quite successfully: Mom still answers the phone when I call.
Here I am a child, here I can be one
This way of dealing with other people hasn't changed for me. It's just that in traffic, in the car, I'm able to let out everything that etiquette, etiquette and social values have robbed us of over the years. In the passenger compartment, I am something that sometimes only partially resembles a human being. Honking, swearing, body language. Here I am a child, here I can be one.
If you're looking for me: Tomorrow I'll be frolicking on the floor in front of checkout 3. I'll even put on a good suit.
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Source: www.stern.de
