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Some really smart and nice people let their kids do some really stupid stuff inside stores, and are amazed by the idiotic things that happen to them.

Today was a great example.

I had this rather nice family come into my store.  Very pleasant people.  Mom was trying to get her two daughters supplied for dance class.  She was asking some very detailed and pointed questions with the clear intent to get her kids into the right product for them.  Kudos, Mom.  Dad was kind off in oblivion, with a Just-Get-This-Over-With stare and comments.  The two kids were overloaded with sugar.  It's just not fair to have that kind of energy around someone who is still half asleep...

Anyhow, this family was trying on shoes.  One daughter would try on the tap shoes, and the other would run around the store like she was at in the running for the Kentucky Derby, (and winning by 3 furlongs...).   Then they would trade off.  Dad was muttering for them to slow down and behave, but his heart clearly wasn't in it.

Now the problem is where they were before they came to my store.  The previous store sold them two light-up jump ropes.   All was good till Mom decided to let the girls play with them inside my store!

You see the problem with this?

Suddenly my quaint little shoe store became Gold's Gym for the superjuvenile set.   Displays are going flying, people complaining, girls slugging each other with lit up ropes like some sort of sick 80's fetish...   It just was not a pretty site.

And Mom is sitting in the aisle wondering why people are going apeshit!

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I have three employees that speak Farsi (a Persian language).  Farsi supposedly is one of the toughest languages to learn, but that isn't stopping my girls from trying to teach me.  So far, I have mastered one word ("Hello"), and I am slowly picking up a couple of others.  

I really think the girls are doing this to me so they can make fun of the way I talk.  It's giving them quite a laugh.

Now it's really a good thing for me to learn this, since my store has a high percentage of Persian speaking customers.   (I am also learning Spanish for the other dominant language in my area, with a bit more success!) 

Naturally, if I am involved, something is going to go horribly wrong, with some sort of hideous result.   Today, it happened.

I was working alone in the store when two Persian ladies came in.  One was about my age, and the other was born sometime about the time the dinosaurs got wiped out (I mean, she was a walking fossil, completely hunched over and barely moving!).   I said hello to them as they entered, as per our policy (and just trying to be nice... I know, I know... it's not me).   The younger lady said hello in unaccented English.  The biddy turned to me and with all her effort, barely squawks out "salam" (IE hello).  I turned to her and replied "salam".   Her eyes got HUGE (think dinner plates the size of Texas) and just kept craning her neck at me as she walked past.  

I think she wet herself.

It was all I could do to not laugh at her response.

The younger lady told me as she left that the biddy was shocked that anyone like me (IE straight white boy) would even try to speak her language.   She truly did not know how to react!

Who says old people aren't fun?

Evil Incarnate

I have decided after this weekend that I am evil incarnate.

Seriously.

Every time I went to measure a kids' feet using the Brannock device (foot scale), I ended up with a screaming heebeejeebee. And it's not like this scale is scary or anything. At worst, it's a cold piece of metal. But put it in my hands near a bed wetting toddler, and the banshees come out in force.

It really makes me wonder.

Yesterday was a great example.

Two kids were playing with the scales while their parents shopped. Each kept taking turns running behind the counter and grabbing the devices. They would then run around (literally) the store swinging the scales until the other relented to have their foot measured. All fun and games (except for the customers that we cannot help since we can't find the scales now!).

Until it's their turn.

The parents finish demolishing the section of the store that they think they own, and now it's time to put shoes on the snowflakes. All hell is about to come crashing down about our ears.

Mom (usually) or Dad comes up to us and asks us to measure the feet. In yesterday's case, it was Mom.

First things first, I have to have a Brannock device. We keep some behind our counter, and a couple up high at the end of the aisles, so no problem.

Remember, these fiends have been playing with these same scales, laughing and running and basically terrorizing the entire store, just moments before all this...

I kneel down and talk to the snowflake, asking if they are having fun, smiling the entire time.

Snowflake takes one look at me, one look at the scale and decides this ain't happening.

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

I am sure the scream was audible somewhere in the orbit of Neptune.

Little Precious now starts kicking and yelling, pointing at the scale. Tears are falling fast enough to flood the Mojave. Other customers look at us either in fear, wondering what we are doing to the poor child, or in sympathy, or relief since it isn't their child--yet.

Mom is looking at me with apology all over her face.

The other child, in the spirit of the moment, decides they want attention. She starts screaming with the intent of setting off new decibel records.

Mom thanks me for the effort, and says she will just guess on size unless she can talk Snowflake into being measured. I tell her that I will leave her the scale and give her a brief how-to on using it should the twerp decide to be measured.

I get up, leave the scale on a bench and walk towards another customer.

INSTANT silence from Snowflake.

It's got to be me that Snowflake hates.

It's okay. I am not exactly her biggest fan either.

After all, I am evil incarnate.

We've Got Big Balls

The crazy people are all over the place.


BossLady and I went bowling tonight, and while I am beating the living crap outta her, two mothers and four boys (the oldest being MAYBE 10 years old) start playing on the lanes next to us.

Okay...


BossLady knows I am not a big fan of kids. Some can be fantastic, well behaved and a great sign of the things to come. Others? C'mon people, invest in some birth control or parenting classes, please.


BossLady was enjoying a rare time when she was beating me (barely). About this time, the boys (all four of them) decide that the lanes they are on are not enough. They started running down their lanes (onto the playing surface!) and the youngest (maybe 5 years old) started break dancing on the approaches, right into where we were playing. A couple of times, I almost kicked them during my turns. Another time, each of us came close to hitting the boys with our back swings with our balls.

To make matters worse, each of the mothers was taking flash photos during the games.


Think about this. People throwing big balls being suddenly blinded. I was seriously tempted to "accidentally" throw the ball the wrong way... say... towards the photographer. Sounds like fair play to me.

BossLady did the smart thing. She told one of the mothers to control her kids or that I was likely to do my best Rambo impersonation on her boys.


The bowling alley finally agreed to our request to change lanes for the safety of the boys.





Some of you may laugh at BossLady and I for bowling, but too fucking bad. We took it up earlier this year as something for us to do together outside the home. We got so into it that we broke down and got balls of our own, shoes, etc. Eventually, we will find time after all the wedding planning and whatnot to join a league.

I routinely beat her ass.

So we have started a new scoring method now. We both still go for our personal bests, but now the winner is the one who gets the highest over their average. I'm still gonna smoke her.

I used to bowl on leagues growing up. When I lived in Antioch, CA, a friend got me into a bowling league. I loved it. When we moved to Kansas City, their was a bowling alley on Richards-Gebaur AFB where we lived, so I bowled there as well. I got involved in theatre in high school, so I dropped it for a while. When Mom got transferred to Marine Corps HQ in Washington, DC, I joined her Marine Corps intramural league. I loved it.

Throughout college, I bowled for kicks with friends whenever the mood struck us. But I stopped after graduating college.

BossLady's idea to go play last spring really struck a good cord with me.

And people wonder why I dropped the Big Q on her?

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!

How 'Bout a Knockout?

It was a thing of beauty. It happened in my store, but honestly, it could have been anywhere and I would be just as happy.

Sir Isaac Newton stated that for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction. Today was proof.


I realize that parenting in this day is getting pretty scary. I mean, if you lecture your child, you get sued for abuse. You spank your child, it's abuse. You deny them the candy bar, it's abuse for mental cruelty.

To discipline a child these days, the accepted norm is the "Time Out".

This may work for some, but I can't imagine how. Let's make you sit in a corner for two minutes and think about it. What is this? The penalty box in a hockey game?

I grew up knowing there were consequences to my actions. My mother was in the Marines. My father was in the Marine Reserves. Three of my uncles were also in the service (two army, one Coast Guard). My grandfather was in the Army. If I screwed up, I KNEW I was gonna get it, and how!

I wasn't a perfect child by any means, but it only took my mother and father a couple of times to get the message across not to screw up. After two trips to the garage to talk with his belt or Mom's backhand, I got the hint. After that, it was Mom snapping her fingers or him reaching for the buckle, and I straightened up fast.

I think I turned out all right. At least, no worse off than the rest of the world, and I certainly don't blame my parents for trying to get me to grow up decently.

I wish more people were like that.

I am not saying abuse the child, but there is nothing wrong in my mind with spanking a child, done properly.

I like to paraphrase Bill Engvall on how we really should react, though his statement is a bit extreme. "Not a time out, Ma'am. How about a KNOCK OUT! SPANK THAT BRAT!"



Today in my store, a family came in, and one child was being rude to his mother and aggravating his siblings. His father said if he didn't pay, there would be hell to pay (not his words, but a close approximation!). The boy continued to misbehave. His mother just looked at him, and said sternly, "If you don't straighten up, I will spank you, and I don't care who sees!"

Naturally, this child thought he could get away with it. He didn't consider that his mother meant every word she said. (To be honest, I didn't think she would do it either!)

Two minutes later, I look up to see her take the child, hold one arm, reach around and swat him good on the backside. (The boy was about 10 years old, which makes me think he understood why it was going on, and that his actions were the cause!) He immediately stopped screaming, sat down and shut up. He was the instant model citizen.

Amazing.

It was all I could do to not stand up and cheer.

It was such a beautiful thing to see a parent actually discipline a child who was unruly.


Thank you so much for taking action, lady!

Birth Control

I hate kids. More specifically, I hate parents who don't control there offspring.

Today I had the full spectrum of these mini-human beings (terms used loosely... you can't prove to me some of these crazy heebeejeebees are human) at my store.

The day actually started quite well. A mother came in with two boys, one about 10 and the other about 3 years younger. Both boys were quiet (IE not constantly screaming at mom) and respectful to the people around them. They (amazingly enough in this day and age) had manners. Things like "please", "no, Ma'am" and "thank you" were a regular part of their vocabulary. They really amazed me when, after their mother paid for their items, they came to her and said "thank you, Mom" and they meant it! I made it a point to tell her how great it was to see that, and that I hoped that these two fine young men came back to my store. Mom was obviously overjoyed to hear that.

That's the good stuff. I wish it was more common, but it's not. What I got next, unfortunately, is the norm.

A mother and her three kids came into the store today when it was rather busy. The kids ranged anywhere from early teens (the daughter), to about 4 years old. The oldest boy was about ten. This family was in my store for almost two hours. It's not a big store. I had no where to hide.

The daughter started by asking where her sized merchandise was and dove into it with typical teenage glee.

The boys went ape-shit.

They started by grabbing anything they could touch. They opened everything. If it was on a peg, they took it off the peg and left it on the floor. And they took the peg and threw it like a dagger. They ripped open sealed packages. They broke the ties on certain items. They used other items like dusters (even though they are not meant for anything like that). They started pounding on my credit card pad. They got behind the counter and started dumping our supplies all over the floor. They got into the trash and started emptying that.

Now that they were warmed up, they started running in the store. It was an all-out game of tag, and when you got caught, you got punched. If you got caught and you weren't playing, you got punched. They tripped over other customers (and there were many). They were screaming the entire time. MM and I were doing everything we could to stop them. No luck.

The Mother wasn't doing anything to stop these hooligans. The boys went nuts. They got mad if they got asked to stop by us. The mother didn't say a word. Other customers were joining in, trying to tame these raving rabid twits. Nothing worked.

I lost it all after I was measuring the youngest child and the middle child grabbed my shoulders and started using me as an obstacle for his game. He was pushing my shoulders, grabbing what little hair I have left, punching my back, and kicking my feet. As I looked up at the mother to tell her what size shoe her son wore, the middle heathen literally screamed in my left ear. He was one inch from it at the time. I just looked at the mother and said if this behavior continued, I would ask them to leave as they were disrupting my store for other customers and they were not being safe. They were also a hazard to my health.

I went in back and punched a wall.

I came back out to find the eldest boy hanging from the door. It's a glass door and not designed to support any weight, particularly not the tonnage this overweight fart was carrying. I just looked at the mother and said "do I need to call the police?"

They finally made their selections, and the mother had the gall to ask me to give her a discount!

What planet are people like this from???


And my mother wonders why she will never get grand kids out of me.