We sell bath products. We do not babysit children. We will sell your kids if you leave them here.
A woman came in today with two little girls, and a smaller boy in tow. The little girls were five and six, the boy about three. Not exactly the clientele we love in the store, as they tend to be destructive.
But, like professionals, Rae and I kept our smiles plastered on our faces, and were as helpful as physically possible in finding things they’d like.
Until the woman suggested leaving her children in our care.
We exchanged a look that held a quick conversation:
Me: WTF?!
Rae: IDK.
Me: Are you gonna…?
Rae: It’s all yours.
So I gently reminded her that we are not a babysitting service. I’m not sure of the words I used, or if I just gave her a look that plainly said “Not going to happen”, but suffice it to say, the message was passed.
After that Mother-of-the-Year was decidedly cold to me. I’m okay with that.
Then, to top it all off, the three year old boy tried to destroy the store, and then when it was time to ring up, she complained about the price. If you don’t want to spend a ton of money, actually LOOK at the product signs and check the price. It’s plainly posted. Not my problem.
PSA: Retail bath-crack monkeys are not babysitters. We are not paid near enough for that crap. If you don’t want to be with your kids, maybe you shouldn’t have had them. Jussayin’.
Also, clean up after your brats. I don’t like having to pick up a shit-ton of Legos.
I can top that.
ReplyDeleteThe other day, I was helping some customers when I see a dad with two girls (girls around 7 years old), enter the store.
I say the hello-welcome-how-are-you part and he says they just wanna look around.
I keep doing what I was doing and suddenly I see the dad reach for our Disneyland pad, scribble something and give the note to one of the girls.
I'm mad now, because I'm fond of that pad, but whatever.
I keep blending things with my cocktail mixer. When I turn around(5 seconds later), the dad is nowhere to be found but the two little girls are still there.
When the customers I was helping leave, I approach the little girls.
I say "where did your father go? you really aren't supposed to play with that unless an adult is with you."
The tallest one hands me the note her father scribbled on our pad.
It has only a phone number written on it.
The shortest girl says: "He said to call him when we're done. Can I use your phone?"
I thought about calling child services instead. Actually, I'm gonna look for their number and write it on our "sacred book of all knowledge."
If there's something I have no patience with, is bad parents.