Nightmare on Craft Street-- my future pledge
"COME OOOON!" I said, in a completely audible tone, on purpose and for all those in earshot of me, including my three kids, the neighbor girl, and everyone else in the checkout lane.
Everyone, that is, except the cashier whose brain had rung one too many paint bottles.
I have a love/hate relationship with the mega craft store. I love it because I can always find a bargain (who doesn't love a cheap flowerpot?) and am always in need of a few dozen extra paint brushes because I forgot to clean them and the entire lot of them turned to stone. I also love to walk down the aisle with all of the foamie crafts and laugh at the people stocking their cart with the stuff because while it's an easy sell, it's just awful smelly stuff that takes up too much room in your cupboards. Not to mention the aisles upon aisles of scrapbooking materials (see previous post here) and the stickers that cost more than a spare kidney.
Are you starting to sense the frustration that starts to simmer from within while shopping for my own wooden and floral treasures?
Yeah, so when I get to the only available check-out lane and the woman in front of me is buying--and I kid you not-- about 60 tiny bottles of puffy paint, it only got worse.
One by one.
Ring by ring.
Ding by ding.
"Oh wait, this one doesn't have a UPC. I'll have to look it up."
And on and on it went while my two older children and the neighbor girl got lost in a sea of colored pencils and Webkinz and my 18 month old poked herself with the wooden dowel rod I was attempting to purchase.
And bad went to fire-shooting-out-of-my-nose worse when Pokey the cashier realized she knew Ms. Puffy Paint, and the ring by ring, ding by ding got even slower while they chatted about so-and-so and this-and-that.
This is about when my outbursts began. I actually turned to the woman behind me and told her that I suffer from some sort of check-out curse, where I only choose the slowest possible lanes and that she should do herself a favor and find another lane unless she wants to spend her next birthday listening to my kids ask for every single available Webkinz.
Can anyone tell me why it is that people are so oblivious to desperate mothers? It was pretty obvious I wasn't having the easiest time there, trying to control four kids in a sea of scalloped scissors. Especially in this store, where the customers are 99% women (and 1% men sitting on the bench by the door), and I'm sure a good percentage of those women were mothers, and that 100% of those mothers stood in a line in a store and could have used a little help at some point in their lives.
But they must have forgotten, kind of like how I have forgotten just how bad labor and c-sections hurt, but yet I went ahead and did it again. And again.
This is why I'm taking a pledge. I am hereby promising to help any over-worked, under-paid mother whenever I can. Whether it's letting her cut in line or putting her cart back. Maybe it's only a friendly smile, but I don't want to be like Pokey and Ms. Puffy Paint and chat about church last week while the woman behind me is visibly sweating and her infant tugs on her legs so hard that her underwear is showing.
Really. Really.
I will not let the happen, should I get the fine opportunity to have a free hand to help. I'm vowing to give that tired mom that free hand, unless, of course, she's got a cartload of foamies or overpriced stickers.
Then I'll just laugh and buy myself a new bottle of puffy paint.
Everyone, that is, except the cashier whose brain had rung one too many paint bottles.
I have a love/hate relationship with the mega craft store. I love it because I can always find a bargain (who doesn't love a cheap flowerpot?) and am always in need of a few dozen extra paint brushes because I forgot to clean them and the entire lot of them turned to stone. I also love to walk down the aisle with all of the foamie crafts and laugh at the people stocking their cart with the stuff because while it's an easy sell, it's just awful smelly stuff that takes up too much room in your cupboards. Not to mention the aisles upon aisles of scrapbooking materials (see previous post here) and the stickers that cost more than a spare kidney.
Are you starting to sense the frustration that starts to simmer from within while shopping for my own wooden and floral treasures?
Yeah, so when I get to the only available check-out lane and the woman in front of me is buying--and I kid you not-- about 60 tiny bottles of puffy paint, it only got worse.
One by one.
Ring by ring.
Ding by ding.
"Oh wait, this one doesn't have a UPC. I'll have to look it up."
And on and on it went while my two older children and the neighbor girl got lost in a sea of colored pencils and Webkinz and my 18 month old poked herself with the wooden dowel rod I was attempting to purchase.
And bad went to fire-shooting-out-of-my-nose worse when Pokey the cashier realized she knew Ms. Puffy Paint, and the ring by ring, ding by ding got even slower while they chatted about so-and-so and this-and-that.
This is about when my outbursts began. I actually turned to the woman behind me and told her that I suffer from some sort of check-out curse, where I only choose the slowest possible lanes and that she should do herself a favor and find another lane unless she wants to spend her next birthday listening to my kids ask for every single available Webkinz.
Can anyone tell me why it is that people are so oblivious to desperate mothers? It was pretty obvious I wasn't having the easiest time there, trying to control four kids in a sea of scalloped scissors. Especially in this store, where the customers are 99% women (and 1% men sitting on the bench by the door), and I'm sure a good percentage of those women were mothers, and that 100% of those mothers stood in a line in a store and could have used a little help at some point in their lives.
But they must have forgotten, kind of like how I have forgotten just how bad labor and c-sections hurt, but yet I went ahead and did it again. And again.
This is why I'm taking a pledge. I am hereby promising to help any over-worked, under-paid mother whenever I can. Whether it's letting her cut in line or putting her cart back. Maybe it's only a friendly smile, but I don't want to be like Pokey and Ms. Puffy Paint and chat about church last week while the woman behind me is visibly sweating and her infant tugs on her legs so hard that her underwear is showing.
Really. Really.
I will not let the happen, should I get the fine opportunity to have a free hand to help. I'm vowing to give that tired mom that free hand, unless, of course, she's got a cartload of foamies or overpriced stickers.
Then I'll just laugh and buy myself a new bottle of puffy paint.
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