Get the facts, ma’am.

File this under: Get Some Business and Mind It.

I got the brainiac idea that my children needed a sandbox.  I have the vessel for the sand (a large, blue, plastic tugboat that was a hand me down last fall) but I needed to purchase said sand.  And today, apparantly, was the day.  We left mega-home improvemnt store with 300 pounds of “play sand”.  I don’t really know how that differs from real sand.  Maybe there’s no cat poo in it?  Anyway, we were on our way home and Ella pitched a fit because we didn’t get shovels and buckets for the sand.  She was right.  It was on our list and I forgot.

Target or Wal-mart?  She chooses Wal-Mart.  Don’t know why.  But we are across town from “our” Wal-Mart so we go to the “other” Wal-mart.  The “other” one smells like fried chicken all. the. time.  And the clientele are…ummmm…interesting.  Let’s put it this way.  It’s the time of year where the tank tops come out for the first time and there is a large part of the population sporting brand new prision tattoos.  All at Wal-mart.  Today. 

Ella is going through her “I can do it by myself” phase.  She closes the door to pee.  She must buckle her own car seat straps.  She must put on her own shoes.  Dress herself.  Get her own snacks.  Whatever.  So we’re just starting in Wal-Mart and she says she has to go to the bathroom.  “Don’t come in here, mommy.”  Right.  But, Amelia is content in the cart so in order to not rock the boat, I park Amelia just outside the door and send Ella in.  I stand in the doorway, holding open the women’s room door and talk to Ella.  She washes her hands and comes out.  I was within 4 feet of both children at all times and they were never out of my sight.

From the back of my consiousness I hear:  “Ma’am”  “MA’AM!”

I am confused.  I look up to the sky like God is talking to me.  I catch the eye of a blue be-smocked employee who points at a woman in a scooter.  She wasn’t particularly old but she was rough looking with a wicked witch face.  Oh, and she was probably 400 pounds.  Which explains the scooter.

“That’s illegal, you know.”

Okay, I’ll bite.  “Huh?  What?”  Are you gargling at me?

“It’s illegal to leave your baby in the cart and go to the bathroom.”

Really?  Like I’d leave my kid alone for a second in this shithole town (it really was voted, by USA Today, the hotel newspaper, to be the “armpit of America”, a title stolen from Detroit).  “I was in the doorway the whole time.  She was fine.”

And I walked off.  Fuming.  And I spent the next hour thinking of what I should have done/said but didn’t think fast enough because I was shocked at the gall of some people.  Here’s the short list.

I should have disconnected her battery and then watched her try to get her six pack of Butterfinger bars, 2 liter of Diet Coke and Weight Watchers magazine to her car parked in the Disabled parking spot.  I’ll bet she drove an ’82 Impala.  That is in dire need of new struts.

“Get some business and mind it”

“I know the law and I’m very certain I didn’t break it.”

“If you would have come over and checked the facts before you spoke, we would not have had to have this conversation.”

“Oh, you’re right.  Would you like to use my phone to call 911 or should we just do a citizens arrest right here?”

And my favorite:  “?Que?  No habla Ingles.”


I hate nosy people.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s