# told you there's a God

     When I was about seven years old, my mom took me downtown shopping, with an acquaintance of hers and her four or five year old son. The child was obnoxious in every way. We had to stop and deal with his balking, yelling, and tantrum-throwing several times--right in the middle of Wanamaker's department store. That lovely turn-of-the-last-century old store, where voices always seemed to be hushed. The day brightened up considerably when we were visited by the hand of God, or karma, if you will. It happened like this--we were all going up the escalator. The brat sat down on the escalator, with his behind on the step going up. My mom and the other woman were talking, and didn't notice. I tried to get their attention, but hesitantly, as interrupting was forbidden. When we got to the top of the escalator, the brat's pants got caught in the teeth of the moving steps. He let out a howl. The step seemed to have whacked him right on the behind. The next step did the same. And the next. It took a minute for the store manager to shut the thing down and extricate the brat. Meanwhile the brat was having a well-deserved spanking. He wasn't harmed, but his pants were torn, and I suppose his backside was bruised, along with his mighty little ego. What a satisfying end to an awful afternoon. I still love that old store.