After walking to Costa's on The Ave for a delish breakfast of sausage, eggs, biscuits, gravy, hash browns and heart failure, my kiddo and I decided to wander around in search of toys. The weather was so pleasant today--though a little on the humid side--so we thought it would be fun to hit up a few stores and then take the bus home. Here is what happened between breakfast and home:
RUDE VILLAGE PEOPLE
At Red Light, an urban hipster thrift store, we were taking a photo of ourselves in goofy sunglasses, when an pinched-face employee made a beeline for us. "Please don't photograph our things?" he said, although it sounded like a question. I apologized, while my son Oren scrambled to take his sunglasses off. The employee--dressed in a very tasteful, hotpants sailor uniform--admonished my son for getting a fingerprint on the sunglasses, and ripped them out of his hand so he could furiously clean them. I said, "Please don't touch my kid? Also, half of these sunglasses had fingerprints on them already, probably from the crackheads who roam free throughout this store, and he only tried on one pair." His response: "There aren't a lot of child-friendly items here." The phrase child-friendly items was said in the same tone one might say hotpants sailor uniform, which was even more insulting because of his failed Village People outfit. My response to him: "There aren't a lot of child-friendly people here, either." And so we left.
Next stop: Urban Outfitters. We looked at all of the toys, and spent about 20 minutes figuring out which kidrobot toys we really wanted. We walked up to the counter, where one girl was busy entering receipts into the computer. We waited. She saw us, but didn't make eye contact. She looked meaningfully around the store, as if to silently convey how busy she was--couldn't we see she had receipts in her hands? Since the store was basically empty, I was amazed we stood there for five minutes without anyone coming to help us. I said, "Excuse m--" and that's when she sighed, quite audibly, and began literally punching the keyboard in front of her with two fingers. *SIGH* U! *SIGH* R! *SIGH* B! *SIGH* A! *SIGH* That is when I threw the toys down onto her keyboard, said "Thanks for the speedy customer service", and left. Oren was very disappointed he didn't get his toy, but I will not be treated like that in some underwhelming retail store owned by Republicans, OR by an angsty anorexic student in ugly tights who makes eight bucks an hour. Not happening, not today.
After that, I promised Oren he could have anything at the University Bookstore that was under ten dollars; I always have a fixed price, otherwise he'll find the most expensive thing and expect me to get it for him. I know he does this, because he learned it from me.
We had fun going through all of the toys, looking through magazines, and checking out the video games. He decided he wanted a paratrooper dude--some G.I. Joe-looking fellow attached to a parachute--and I decided I wanted a smoothie. We headed to the cafe, where we bought a water and ordered the smoothie. Oren was done with his water, 10 minutes later, but I still didn't have my drink. I had gone up to the counter twice, and each time the girl waved me away like she knew what I was there for. Apparently she was bluffing, because had she known what I was there for, she would have made my drink. It was finally made after I stood there for an uncomfortable amount of time, arms crossed, boring a hole into her skull with my hostile stare. She sighed heavily, as though I were challenging her moral fiber, which is a joke because she looked like the kind of girl who could invent whipped cream belly shots. When she slammed my smoothie on the counter, the lid popped off, the smoothie splattered everywhere, and I got my money back. The best part about it: she had to make another one, and when she gave it to me (complete with a look of misplaced hatred), I took one drink and then threw it away. In front of her. And I kept my unblinking stare on her the entire time.
The look of hatred she gave me then was probably deserved. But 15 minutes for a smoothie, and then I'm covered in it? Fuck you, morally-bankrupt whip cream girl.
LINES vs. LINES
I had to purchase a new calendar, so we headed downstairs to the office supply section. If I had to choose between going to the office supply store, or checking out the best cheese shop, it would take me a while to decide. I'm not a particularly organized person, but I like how the office supply store makes me feel: like a particularly organized person. Or, at the very least, like a person who looks like an organized person. I meander around, mumbling phrases like, 'this white board would be perfect for that corner in our kitchen I've been meaning to clean out', or 'these kinds of pens are fantastic for journaling'. Since I had my nine-year old with me (good ol' Honest Abe, that one), he kept the fantasy at bay by saying, 'But you never clean the kitchen!' and 'There's NO WAY you can afford that pen.' Next time, I'm going alone.
I found a new calendar, a good notepad for work, and some sidewalk chalk for us to play with later. We stood behind the LINE FORMS HERE sign. And then three groups of people cut in front of us. Either they didn't see the sign, didn't see us, or didn't fucking care, but Jerkoff #1 actually bumped into me while we were standing there. He didn't even look back. I hated him the most, because he cut in line so he could buy the pen I wanted but couldn't afford. Jerkoff #2 bumped into my son, and while she glanced behind her to say sorry, the words I'm and Sorry never left the wrinkly hole that was her mouth. I started to say, "Hey, there's a line", but she was gushing so loudly about her son and his stupid school supplies, I couldn't get a word in edgewise. I eventually felt bad for her, because it was clear her son wasn't interested in school or supplies, just stealing three obnoxious, barking dog keychains, right from under her nose. He was probably ten years old. Jerkoff #3, who was on some sort of coke bender (super fidgety, constantly playing with his nose, literally jumping in place), went around us and right up to the counter, but by then I'd had enough. "IS THERE A POINT TO HAVING THE LINE START BACK HERE IF YOU AREN'T GOING TO ENFORCE IT?" said I. The employees--two oblivious, braindead employees, one in his twenties, one in his fifties--finally looked up as though coming out of a fog, and waved me forward. Jerkoff #3 said, quite cokily, "No need to get pushy, or pushy, or whatever." I said, "Yeah, I know. That's why I didn't push you or the last two people who cut in front of us." His response: "It's just a line." I'm aware. I am aware it is just a line. SO GO FUCKING STAND IN IT. Lines are meant to be stood in, not just snorted. Then we left, hungry for naps, weary from our Day In Hell.
On the way to our bus stop, a young woman ran into my son, like full-on, as though she hadn't even seen him. He immediately started crying, because she'd elbowed him in the face, and the bitch didn't even look back. Now I may not receive the Mother Of the Year award, but no one hurts my child and gets away with it, NO ONE. All I could see was bright rage-y red. I sat my son on the bus bench and ran to catch her arm. "I'M SORRY...EXCUSE ME," I said to her. She turned around. She was on her cell phone, and totally uninterested. "What? Oh, whatever, that's cool," she said. She thought I was apologizing to her. "No, lady. I'M SORRY and EXCUSE ME is what you'll be saying to my little boy, who you just ran smack into, and who is crying over there on that bench. You can go over and offer him an apology, or I will drag you by your motherfucking hair to the bench until you're bleeding, and then you can offer him a heartfelt apology. You ran into him and elbowed him in the face. I'm sure you didn't mean to, but please be a fucking human before I go fucking insane on you, AND I MEAN FUCKING INSANE, AFTER THE GODDAMN FUCKING DAY WE'VE HAD." I'm not going to admit to screaming, but I may have raised my voice a bit. Yeah, I made a scene, but at that point, I really didn't care. She went and apologized, and we left, vowing to never shop on The Ave again.
Are we fucking invisible? Whatever happened to human decency? I was shocked by people's assholery today, I really was. As jaded and pessimistic as I can be, I feel I'm always polite in most situations, and I try to be sensitive to others in public, because this is Seattle and we're retarded about being PC. Even if people were being jerks to me, I would still expect them to be decent to my CHILD. He's a fucking kid! Who gets off on making a little kid cry or feel bad about themselves? What is WRONG with people?!
When I look back through my blog, I laugh, because you can always tell when Aunt Flo is in town, overstaying her welcome. File this post under that, and avoid The Ave. It's just filled with a bunch of half-human, imbecilic douchebags.