“Okay, Buddy?”

Here’s a fun Shiny’s Takeout economic tip for 2009: On a day where you want to get out of the house but the weather outside is dismal — take your kid to a Barnes and Noble. It’s true what they say: books are truly a treasure, a gateway to a young mind’s imagination. Especially new, expensive books.

But enough about children’s minds — the best part about a Barnes and Noble, especially if you have a youngster between the ages of 2 and 7 or so, is the “train table” in the back of the kids’ section.

(cc) The Gearys - http://flickr.com/photos/gearys/

It was a very clever move of B&N  to do this (also other retail chains like Books-A-Million).  Let’s face it: bookstores are too damn quiet. They remind people of libraries, with all of those books and everything everywhere. How does one differentiate it? By bringing in a table with train tracks and Thomas the Tank Engine tie-in merchandise to sample!

It’s a fun way to spend an afternoon: go with your kid to Barnes and Noble. Grab a book from the stacks. While the kid plays with Thomas for a while, find a corner and start reading. Hell – grab some Starbucks if you’d like.  You can also read the kid a story to break the monotony. Best of all — it’s a low-cost (or no cost?) activity. And there are bathrooms on-site.

The best part about the train table is watching the other kids — especially staring them down while looking really creepy.  Parents seem to love that. But a close second is watching the dynamic between the parents and the kids who are playing at the train table.

You’ll inevtiable see three kids of parents:

(1) Enthusiastic Parent of Disassociated Daniel: There’s bound to be that kid — often about 22 months old — who is taken to the train table. It would be absolutely wonderful, thinks the parent, for the kid to play with the trains for a bit with the other kids. So the parent talks up the train table as if it were Disneyland. But the kid gets overwhelmed with the four or five older kids crammed around the table reaching for trains as if they were currency. So instead of becoming a part of this miniature Lord of the Flies society, the kid withdraws. And just stands there.

Look, Tommy! It’s Harold the Helicopter! Isn’t it exciting!

Do you want to push the train over the bridge, Tommy?

Tommy? Can you hear me?

(2) The Micro-Manager: Let’s face it: there are only a finite number of trains. The more assertive (read: older) kids will end up with more of them than the younger kids who know what’s good for them.  The parents usually sit by the sidelines to help with any possible conflicts that come up — or to remind their own kids to share with the younger kids who are too timid to ask on their own. Usually I can enjoy my book to the side while keeping half an ear out to the conversation at the table.

But then you have the parents who form this human bubble around the back of their kids.  Perhaps these are lawyers, serving as advocates for their children’s rights at the table. If the kid has Edward the Engine (number 2, if you’re keeping track at home) but not Edward’s coal tender — the parent will make sure to barter with another kid to make sure that all is well with his/her kid’s best experience at the table. This parent will also make sure that his/her kid won’t obstruct the path of any other kids’ trains that are trying to pass.  It’s best not to have a confrontation; some of these four year-olds might be packing heat. The conversations usually go like this:

What’chu doing, Trey? Do you have Percy? Percy the Engine? Is he going on the bridge? Okay — wait ’til the other kid passes by… Trey — TREY — okay. That’s fine.  Did the other boy give you another engine, Trey? Did he give you an engine? What do we say, Trey? What do we say? Can we say ‘Thank you’ a little lounder, Trey? Okay – watch the other train… No, Trey, he was there first. Let him go first, Trey. TREY! It’s his turn, Trey. He had that train first. It’s okay, Trey. Just don’t make eye contact with that nice boy…”

The sad thing? Some of the other kids — who had never met this kid before — were already talking to their own parents about “Trey.”  I suppose it’s a 180 degree turn from…

(3) The Buddy-Dad. This is usually a dad who looks slightly older than the other parents there. Often he has gray hair and a gruff voice. He could be a corporate executive, looking a bit out of place in his turtleneck and GAP jeans.  He has a son at the train table while he’s holding a Satrbucks cup. He either has a cel phone at his ear or, more likely, a bluetooth headset.  And he interacts minimally with his kid — but always calls him “buddy” or “pal.”

“Hey, Buddy — look! Trains! You like trains, right Pal?”

There are three theories that I have which explain the overuse of Buddy and Pal:  (a) the father is overprotective. He doesn’t want creepy onlookers to know the kid’s actual name. Maybe it’s to protect the privacy of the family; maybe it’s to protect his son from strangers knowing that his name is Chester or something equally embarrassing. Or (b) the father is trying to connect with the son on a level which emphasizes quality, not quantity. He wants his son to know that he’s a cool dad, despite the bad hairplugs and the Members Only jacket.  He’s highlighting the cool, casual relationship he has with his kid.

My money is on (c): The dad is simply too self-absorbed to remember his own kid’s name.

Today, Buddy-Dad looked a bit like Steve Jobs. The bluetooth headset was an Aliph Jawbone. The  accent was a twinge of Philadelphia with a little New York thrown in.  Every five minutes or so he would interrupt his phone conversation with a “How you doin’, buddy? Having fun with the trains, pal?” and then go back to his call.  Certainly Dad of the Year material.

If ever you’re at a Barnes and Noble — even if you’re without children of your own — take a look and see if you can spot these parents in the kids’ section. If anything, it’s a wonderful experiment in observation.

Okay, buddy?