I woke up in a weird mood today. I woke up early, after a restless night’s sleep chock-full of weird ass dreams (though how bad ass would it be if Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles were real and they really WERE my friends – totally bad ass, that’s how bad ass), and just cannot seem to pull my shit together today. I’m not in a bad mood, and I’m certainly not cranky. Maybe it’s the Monster I drank, or the fact that my Greek yogurt tasted weird this morning, but I am in RARE form… one of those moments where I think most of what comes out of my own mouth is pure comedic gold and feel anyone I come in contact with is my audience. So, for the narcissistic sake of “hearing myself talk” – here goes:
MY STORE IS NOT A PLAYGROUND. YOUR UNRULY CHILD IS NOT CUTE. YOUR PARENTING SKILLS SUCK.
I know, I know. Those of us who are childless (also known as AWESOME) think we know what it takes to keep a difficult child at bay when out in public – I’m sure there is a small discrepency in how easy we think it is and what it really takes. We are all very quick to pontificate that if that were our child, little Johnny and little Suzy wouldn’t be tearing shit off the walls and running screaming around retail stores, dangling from displays that, if they were to break or be knocked off balance, would probably put little Johnny and little Suzy in the hospital. Having cared for my younger brothers in the past, I have at least a vague idea of how to get children to behave in public… so all of you parents out there shaking your heads at me thinking I have no clue, quit judging.
The first step in making sure your kid isn’t running amuck is to PAY ATTENTION TO YOUR GODDAMN KIDS. Day in and day out, I witness parents that come into my store, and allow their kids to simply do as they please. They break things, they kick and scream, they act as though our store is their playground. Their parents, however, don’t get involved until either they are crying because something fell on them, or until one of us politely warns them “don’t hang on that, little one, it may fall on you and I don’t want you to get hurt.” The result is almost always the parent pandering to their child, and yelling at we, the employees (note I didn’t say babysitters), who typically want nothing more than to punt their child into next week. “Don’t tell my child what to do. They’re fine.” No, ma’am, little Johnny and little Suzy have left a path of destruction in their wake, not unlike a tornado, and you would probably sue us if that 60lb top-heavy display sign crushed their tiny, still-developing skull. Either leave the kids at home, or train them to behave.
Additionally, curb your know-it-all, disrespectful as fuck, “I’m too cool for this”, buy me what I want or I immediately become insolent teenagers. My ass would’ve had my cell phone, TV, computer, etc taken away from me for behaving the way these little douchebags do.
STUPID QUESTIONS WILL, IN FACT, RECEIVE STUPID ANSWERS
I really feel as though I shouldn’t have to explain this one, however… I do. Questions such as “Oh, you mean I have to pay for that?” and “I haven’t charged my phone in four days, why won’t it turn on?” are likely to get you an answer so laden with thinly-veiled contempt that you might even pick up on my total disdain for you. “Could this plastic piece of film that came on the phone out of the box that is completely obscuring the earpiece of the device be the reason my sound is totally muffled?” is a question that should really only be answered “Maybe you should take it off and find out.” Because I work for a company that frowns on such disregard for your feelings, you’ll get a cheerful “It’s entirely possible. How about I take a look for you and see if we can’t get that fixed today?” – please ignore the fact that the smile plastered on my face is closer to a wince and that in my head, I’m screaming obscenities. “Where is the power button?” – Well ma’am, it’s the one that is clearly labeled POWER. I can’t even.
…and I’ve run out of still. Til next time.