in line for pupusas at the brooklyn flea: the kid strapped in a stroller directly front of us keeps shrieking to be let out. the mom, surprisingly, never reaches the exasperation point. instead she hams it up, “let me think about it… ummm… NO.”

the kid’s words begin to slur together in one, high-pitched “lemmeout-lemmeout-lemmeout-lemme(etc.)” whine.

“oh! I didn’t realize you wanted to get out! you can’t get out!” she replies with a chuckle.

this goes on endlessly. he kicks his boots off into the lady in front of them in line — she had previously tried to reason with the kid that it really was much nicer and less tiring to be pushed around in a chair instead of having to walk. he bucks like he can burst through the mesh stroller straps to freedom. he attempts to make his shrieks shriekier, but he’s already at top volume yet not quite wearing himself out.

finally the dad and other son come back to retrieve the stroller child and go home, where, yes, he can get out. dad elaborates, “you can’t get out in public. you’ve already run away too many times today.”