Dweazzle gets a Retail Balls Award for how he dealt with a bad mom:
I think I told Y'all to call me Dweazzle the last time I posted, but that was forever ago and I don't remember.
Anyhow, after hearing and reading about recent Black Friday craziness, I wanted to share a sweet memory of an experience that happened while I was working at Old Slavery. It wasn't Black Friday, but it was during a particularly heavy holiday rush.
A woman came in with a gaggle of rotten crotchfruit who proceeded to do their level best to mess up, wreck, and otherwise make an unholy mess of every table they could reach, all while being loud and obnoxious as their mother obliviously rifled through the clearance section. Not long after their arrival, I got called to the registers to back up our overworked main cashier. I had been there for twenty minutes or so and had just finished ringing someone up when a customer tapped me on the shoulder and said, "Um... That little boy is peeing..."
I turned around, and sure enough, one of the aforementioned rotten crotchfruit had whipped it out and was urinating on the security sensor gate. The kid was five or six years old, clearly old enough to know better. By this time everyone in line was staring. Shaking my head, incredulously, I turned back to my next customer and reached for my radio to report the offense.
Sometimes, the Retail Gods have pity on us poor slaves. Heaven knows it doesn't happen often, but when it does, friends, savor the moment and wring every last drop of satisfaction out of it you possibly can.
My next customer was the little pissant's mother. Who didn't know that I knew that it was her kid. And who had witnessed the whole thing. A warm sensation spread through my chest, and with a feeling like a conductor about to conduct his greatest masterpiece, I began.
Me, in a calm, conversational tone: "Oh, good Lord. What is wrong with that kid's parents? It's like they didn't even attempt potty training. What kind of horrible, irresponsible parent would let their kid do that? Utter failures, that's what."
Increasingly Embarrassed Woman, in a small, embarrassed voice: "Maybe it was an accident."
Me: "Nah. There'd be a stain on his pants and he'd be upset. He knew what he was doing. He whipped it out and everything. If he's allowed to do that in public, I wonder what his house is like. I bet it's like living with a big, incontinent puppy. Bathroom's probably sparkling clean, though. I wonder why his parent's aren't doing anything about it?"
IEW: (Says nothing, just gets redder and redder)
Me: "If he was my kid, I'd be mortified. I'd beat his little butt, too."
We finished the transaction and she hurried off, snatching up the offending hellspawn and his siblings and exiting the store faster than I had seen anybody leave before or since. I called the supervisor on the radio and made arrangements to have the mess cleaned up.
The exchange left me with a satisfied feeling and a smile on my face for the rest of the day.