Children Of The Scorn

(I’ve been at work for 8 hours and am finishing the last bit of the late-evening rush. A husband, wife, and their 6-year-old daughter come through the line with several items, one of which is a bike.)

Husband: “Can you split these between a couple cards?”

Me: “Of course. What amount would you like?”

Wife: “This’ll be food stamps. One minute…”

(The husband and wife stare at the card reader and babble between themselves which way to turn the card and what their pin is. I try to help several times, only to be scolded, so I remain quiet. As I wait, I start looking around randomly and eventually glance in the general direction of their daughter.)

6-year-old Daughter: “The f*** you starin’ at, b****?!”

Me: *shocked* “I’m sorry, I wasn’t…I didn’t mean…if you bring the bike over here, I can ring it up once your parents are finished—”

6-year-old Daughter: “The f*** you say to me?!”

Me: “Well, unless you paid for it in the back, in which case you’ll want to have your receipt out at the door since they’ll check larger purchases. It’s a pain, I know, but it’s just store policy—”

6-year-old Daughter: “You racist c***! You just sayin’ that ’cause I’m [race], ain’t you? Shut the f*** up!”

Me: “No, it has nothing to…it’s just store policy to check receipts—”

6-year-old Daughter: “F*** you, f***ing racist b****! Y’all are racist! You is nothin’ more than a lil’ racist c*** askin’ me that s***! F*** you, you f***er! I ain’t got to do s***!”

(The daughter screams for a few more minutes, carrying off the bike. Meanwhile, her parents finish with their groceries, apparently oblivious to their daughter’s behavior. The daughter continues to make obscene gestures and screams obscenities at me all the way out the door, being sure to also yell at the store’s door greeter.)

Next Customer: “Morons…”

Me: *immediately burst into tears*

Next Customer: “Do you run into this often?”

Me: *nodding* “M-more than i-is strictly n-necessary.”

Next Customer: “Really? You’re too smart to be dealing with a**holes of that degree. I’d quit. Seriously, f*** that!”

Me: *laughing* “Thank you!”

(I put in my two weeks that night!)

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