Baby Bombs

Baby Bomb: (n)-- The loaded diaper of an infant. Usually falling in the 1o-15 pound fully-loaded range. It's nothing short of toxic waste, and just as hard to dispose of. Pampers ain't kidding folks.





Kids in stores are a bad mix.


Infants in stores are scary.


Bad parents and the above should just be criminal.





Today started like any other Monday in my store. Quiet. A few people from the shopping complex bounce in and talk about the economy for a few before heading off to their jobs. A couple of yuppie parents come in shopping with their preschool kids. Nothing glamorous, nothing shocking.


Somewhere mid-morning, a mother comes in with her infant (I can't guess the boys' age. He isn't talking yet, and barely walking) in a stroller. The first thing she does is take the boy out of the stroller and lets him walk around.


Then it gets scary.


The mother wanders off to shop for herself in the aisle with her size, leaving the infant boy to play by the front door, completely ignoring him!


That isn't a misprint.


The child starts trying to push the door open. Another parent in the store takes the child back to the mother. She turns him loose immediately.


The child now starts pulling items off the bottom shelves and chews (teethes?) on them, ruining over $200 worth of merchandise.


I take the twit back to her and ask her to please watch her child as she could be liable for the damaged product.


She doesn't speak English (conveniently).


I walk away, with child firmly in mother's grasp.


Not more than two minutes later, the boy is behind my counter chewing on the extra cordless phone and trying to fry his measly little gonads on the power cables hidden under the counter. Mother is nowhere to be found.


I finally convince young Tokyo Jones to leave the counter (and give me my phone back) and find his mother, mostly by smiling and saying "find mommy" with little result.


Out with the Windex to clean all the baby slobber off my store. As I start cleaning the counter where Little Mr. Slobber Fest has been, I notice a rather pungent aroma. I don't like it. The kid bunny'd under my counter?!?! Damn little fart broke wind like a rabid hurricane! Now I need to go buy some Febreeze!


I look up to see that the Slobber Bomb has tried to walk out the store again. This time, I tell his mother to please put the child back in the stroller and keep an eye on the brat or I will call the police for child endangerment. She stares at me blankly. Real winner here.


I go up to the front of my store to ring a purchase for another customer. They ask me if I would like them to call child protective services. I thank them, and tell them that I have it under control, all the while wishing I could drop this kid like a three foot putt.


By now, Junior has planted himself by the accessory items by my front register. The aroma I noticed earlier is getting very strong. (I mean, it was killing the fake plants type strong.) The little Beelzebub was sitting there putting anything he could into his mouth. Shoe laces, spray cans... you name it. I quickly grab everything I can and move it out of his reach (or so I think).


By now, the mother has finally realized that her darling little angel is creating hell, and she is about to get the bill. This is after half an hour. And I thought I was slow on the uptake with kids.


Mother finally comes over and picks up her boy. As she lifts him into his stroller, I discover that the smell is indeed him. His diaper is full. And by full, I mean it LITERALLY was overflowing the top of his diaper and down his pants.


That, my friends, is a nuclear baby bomb first class.










On a side note, I am looking for to post stories for Black Friday. Send me your horror stories. I have a few of my own, but would love to get other people in the action!