Because I Care

Caleb and I went birthday shopping for Chris last night.  Probably a bad idea, since Caleb was already tired from a day of school and other taxing activities, and I was tired from writing.  But I'm leaving at 0'Dark-Thirty on Monday morning (this time I really, really mean it), so we had to celebrate Chris' birthday early.

We spent about an hour in the bookstore, by the time we (a) bought refreshments at the embedded Starbucks (b) picked out this month's read-aloud book for Caleb (c) argued over whether or not he could have every single Magic Reading Castle (or some such thing) book and finally -- in a negotiation that would put the recent WGA talks to shame -- settled on three (d) found an employee who could help us ferret out a Pokemon book (e) made an emergency trip to the restroom (f) had the same argument we always have as to why he can't go into the men's room by himself (g) finally got around to the purpose of the trip and picked out some books for Chris (h) made our choices from the vast selection of wrapping papers, bows and cards (see "c"), and, an eternity later, checked out.  ("Yes, I do have a Border's rewards card, but I don't have it with me... Sure, here's my phone number... Okay, try this one... Okay, it might be this one... Can you check it by e-mail address?  Good.  ... Okay, try this e-mail address..")

From there, we headed to Best Buy to look for a video cam thingy for Chris' computer, so we can actually see each other every night when we do the long-distance chapter book/Bible/prayers ritual.  That part was easy.  But I made the mistake of walking us out past the video game aisle.  (How many times does it take to learn that one?)  So we start the video game negotiations.  Which began with, "But you just got books" and went downhill from there, because (a) like all our other children, Caleb is the kind of negotiator who will not give up until you weep and beg for mercy and (b) I was too tired to be at the top of my admittedly limited Mom the Disciplinarian game.  So we quickly degenerated into "You can have ONE of the cheap ones on the sale rack" to a bitter squabble about why he had to choose between the two on the non-sale rack that he had to have or life as we know it would come to an abrupt end.

He finally gave in, chose his video and prepared to march off in an indignant huff with, "Fine, I'll get this one!"  (To the tune of "And I'm never speaking to you again.")  Even given my lousy disciplinarian skills, that one didn't go over well with me.  I took both of the videos and put them back on the shelf.  This prompted the reaction you might imagine.

And that brings me to the point of this post, which is to give a little friendly advice to teenagers who work in retail.  Let's call this lesson "How to Avoid Being Snarled At by a Woman with a Small Child."

So here comes Bob the friendly Best Buy Guy.  Can he help us?

Me: No thanks, we're fine.
Caleb:  (semi-crying) I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'll never do it again I swear I'm sorry I'm sorry...
Bob: Were you looking for a video game?
Me:  We were, but we changed our minds. Thanks anyway.
Caleb:  NOOOOO!!!!  I'm sorry, I mean it, I'm really sorry, I just want one...etc.

Bob starts away, but then, out of the corner of my eye, I see him head back toward us. 

Bob:  Have you heard about our Best Buy Rewards Card?
Me: (as Caleb continues his routine) Um...I don't know...(to Caleb) Stop.  Calm down and I'm going to explain it to you.
Caleb: (continues as before)
Bob: It's free.
Me: I might already have it, I have everybody's card.

Hoping he'll take the hint, I turn back to Caleb and launch into my parable of the certain boy who only wanted to draw ONE picture for his mom, but his mom insisted on having two...)

Bob:  The way it works is, whenever you make a purchase...
Me: (to Bob) I really can't talk to you about it right now.
Caleb: Nobody in this family loves me...etc.
Bob: Like I said, it's free...
Me: (to Caleb) Daddy and I have talked to you about the "nobody in this family loves me" thing...
Bob: ...and you don't even have to make a purchase to get the card.
Caleb: But it's the truth!
Bob: All you have to do is (shoving it at me) take this application and fill it out...
Me:  (in a tone not entirely charitable) I CAN'T THINK ABOUT YOUR CARD RIGHT NOW!
Bob:  Okay.  I understand.  I know how it can be.
Me: (obviously you don't)  Thank you.  (and then, to Caleb)  So the mom got really mad because the son only wanted to draw one picture for her, and she yanked it out of his hand and said, "Fine, I'll just have one!"  Would that be very nice of the mom?"
Caleb (sniffling):  No...
Bob: (handing me a brochure) Just take this home and read it...

I am absolutely positive that had I picked up a microwave and bashed in Bob's skull, no jury of my peers  would have made me serve an hour for it. (My peers being almost 52 year-old working mothers of almost 7 year-old boys)

Note to Bob:  Trust me. No matter how much extra break time they're giving you for every application you give away, it's not worth risking your life.  Now.  Make copies of this blog post for your friends.  Tell them all to take it home and read it.

Comments

[David L Alexander]

Karen:

Found your story through a link from Creative Minority Report. Personally, I would have clocked Bob with a microwave after he missed the first clue. You gave him way to many chances to escape. Stores like Best Buy hire dillweeds like Bob in lieu of involvement in work release programs. And guys like Bob are the reason I would never buy an appliance there. You need a clue to sell appliances and... well, you get the idea.

[Meg]

I got the biggest kick out of your story. Some nimrods have no clue...like a friend of mine - who does in fact have children and should know better - and my sister who will call me up to chat and totally ignore my screaming baby! I try to exit gracefully, but can't get a word in edgewise to let them know that I REALLY REALLY need to attend to the baby and please stop talking, etc.

[Red Cardigan]

This is bringing back horrible memories of living, when my children were small and cranky, in a Southern state which shall remain nameless, but where not only store clerks, but Concerned Anonymous Senior Citizens With Too Much Time On Their Hands all seemed to think that it was their appointed job to come up and talk Loudly and Cheerily at you any time one of your children was crying, on the off chance that you were a truly terrible and abusive mother who was likely to beat said child senseless the moment these officious strangers stopped talking Loudly and Cheerily at both you and the child and left you alone.

The fact that numerous bodies of both salesclerks and Concerned Senior Citizens did not turn up in the aisles of those stores is providential; besides, a stuffed diaper bag makes a lousy lethal weapon.

[David L Alexander]

"...their appointed job to come up and talk Loudly and Cheerily at you any time one of your children was crying..."

Now, hold on there, Red. I've tried that myself on the subway in the evening. I'm standing there in the aisle, minding my own business, trying to read the Wall Street Journal with one hand, and some little kid starts raising a ruckus with Mama in his seat. I'll go over and say to the kid, "Hey, you, what's the problem? Yeah, I'm talkin' to you, kid! Having a rough trip? Tough day at the office? Mommy didn't give you a lollipop?" First of all, the kid stops crying immediately, since attention was the only thing they wanted. They just didn't expect it from anybody else. The other passengers are relieved, and the parent is relieved.

I'm telling you, 95% of the time, it works. Forget about the other 5%. Some parents just don't have a sense of humor. They deserve kids yelling in their ears.

[Patrick A]

"I'll go over and say to the kid, "Hey, you, what's the problem? Yeah, I'm talkin' to you, kid! Having a rough trip? Tough day at the office? Mommy didn't give you a lollipop?"

David, who bails you out after you do this?