Children on wheels: assurance of the encroaching apocalypse

I keep a list in my head of prevalent things that I feel are annoying and possibly harmful to society. I call it my “List of Prevalent Things That I Feel Are Annoying and Possibly Harmful to Society.” Apt title, I know. This list is extensive and regularly updated when I come upon something particularly infuriating.

It currently includes, but is not limited to, theater concession prices, Hummers (and people who drive them despite the oil crisis), Nick Nolte, energy drinks (they taste like expired cough syrup), MySpace, country music, people who use the word “tight,” Uwe Boll movies, the People’s Choice Awards, those furry boots that look as though a Neanderthal has stitched them together with the hides prehistoric animals, reality television, pre-ripped jeans, Gary Busey and Wal-Mart, just to name a few.

Recently, I have come into contact with something so terrifyingly annoying, I shudder at the very thought of the board meeting in which the idea for these evil items was conceived.

The suits, seated around a large wooden table, chat idly and sip their Red Bulls as the meeting is called into session by a large, sweaty executive, who has just finished harassing his secretary because she doesn’t dress “lady-like” enough.

Chuck, a young and spunky “go-getter,” is excitedly anticipating his newest product pitch. Sure, the skateboard-backpack was a lawsuit waiting to happen (children had an annoying tendency to roll right into oncoming traffic), the scooter-sweatshirt was immensely uncomfortable and reportedly caused scoliosis and the bike-treadmill was just asinine.

But Chuck came prepared to this meeting with an idea that’s going to make Furby and Tickle-Me-Elmo look like Tinker Toys. An idea for a product that will dominate both the toy and clothing market. He feverishly licks his lips as the other suits listen in, even going so far as to neglect their palm pilots for a precious few moments. Chuck knows the pitch, the product says it all.

“Roller shoes,” he says simply. “Shoes with retractable wheels.”

The meeting room is completely silent for a full six and-a-half minutes before the sweaty executive speaks, tears glittering in his eyes. “Get corporate on the phone. Now.”

Because screaming, restless children aren’t annoying enough, they have now become mobile, able to reach blistering speeds and coast the entire length of Costco.

I’m very curious as to who in the right mind would think, “Hey, my kids aren’t quite insanely stressful enough for me right now, I should put wheels on the bottom of their shoes and allow them to roam about in the aisles of grocery stores like feral, motorized monkeys.”

It’s gotten to the point where I simply assume that every child I see is capable of lowering wheels from his feet and rushing at me with the speed and grace of an out-of-control semi-truck.

How long until they begin forming street gangs, speeding around dangerously and hassling old ladies for their purses? Is it too far-fetched to think that rocket shoes are on the horizon? Can you even begin to imagine the chaos?

I loathe these accursed shoes with every fiber of my being. I can honestly say that if I were to witness a cataclysmic accident, in which a dozen-or-so of these wheeled hoodlums collided with one another, pitching headfirst through grocery displays and plate-glass windows, I would stand back and watch the carnage, shaking my head with a knowing grin.