A common Occurrence in my line of work, believe it or not, is misbehaving kids. I don’t know if parents let their offspring act the same way at home, or if they’re just so overtaken by the prospect of getting paper towels in bulk to save a dollar, that they lose all parental instinct when they enter my store, but people just don’t watch their kids when they go to Sam’s club. I recall one humorous time where an obviously fresh out of prison Spanish man (you know the type: multiple crosses around his neck to show that he loves Jesus more than you, covered in tattoos of “ma familia,” plastered in the Puerto Rican flag from head to toes) was asking me, in broken English, about what kind of tape was right for his cash register.
While trying with all of my might to make sense of his words, I constantly had to warn his two children about the dangers of jumping through mattress carts. Around the seventh time that I had to explain to the man that there was no way to know what size tape he needed without knowing what kind of register he owned, I heard screaming. With great surprise, I turn to see his kids INSIDE my steel, behind the merchandise. One boy is wedged firmly between two beams, sobbing in fear, while the other is yelling in Spanish and YANKING ON HIS FUCKING ARM. With an exclamation of ” you MUST be kidding me.” I remove the wastes of genetic material from danger and return them to their probably abusive father. The reward for my heroism? “Yo, lemme fuckin’ ask chu sometin’. You can no fuckin’ tell me wit’ my question, but chu’ can fuckin’ harass ma’ fuckin’ keeds? Wha the fuck chu’ ere to do?”
Now I know that the proper course of action is to fail at explaining to the irate man who is probably still on parole that safety is a big concern for Wal-Mart corporation, and that I would be more than happy to assist him further, should he require it. Forty or fifty “Yo FUCK YOU man”s later, I put my hands at my side, looked esse in the eye, and calmly explained: “Look, I’m not about to lose my job because your wife had trouble raising your kids while you were out running the streets in your low rider or whatever the hell you people do. Watch your goddamn kids. Now if you are educated enough to stop using the word “fuck” to enhance your sentences, you could probably go home and read the instruction book that came with your cash register. That’ll tell you everything that you need to know.”
It looked good for the security camera, should it come to my word against his, and as an added bonus he wanted to fight me. His pregnant wife had to remove him from the store to calm him down. Nowadays I have more of a vicious streak in me. The other day is a good example of this. Two kids were playing tag in my aisles. I’ve asked them to stop a few times, and they ignored me. The parents are in the next aisle, ogling over the new low price of Tide HE detergent, without a care for what their kids may be up to without adult supervision.
So I tripped one of them.
It was easy, really. I waited for them to run past, and crouched down to zone the Febreeze. The little girl hit my extended leg and caught some big air before coming down HARD on her face. It looked like a simple, hilarious accident, like slipping on a well placed banana peel, and I even managed to keep a straight face when I feigned concern for the parents who were now rushing over. You may think that I’m a wicked young man, but I bet those kids will think twice about treating my sales floor like a playground in the future.