Mother Doesn’t Know Best

(My mother and I are on a drive to Florida when we stop at a small gas station. A customer and her six- or seven-year-old daughter walk away from the restrooms to the counter.)

Cashier: “May I help you?”

Customer: “Your bathrooms are DISGUSTING! Let me talk to a manager! They make me SICK!”

Cashier: “I’m sorry, ma’am, but the manager isn’t in right now. Would you like me to file a complaint?”

Customer: “No! I want you to clean the GOD-D*** BATHROOMS!

(At this point, the little girl is trying to drag her mother away and is telling her to calm down. The cashier is clearly shaken and on the verge of tears.)

Cashier: *tearing up* “I’m sorry, but that’s not my position, and the janitors aren’t in right now. Is there anything else I can do?”

Customer: “NO, GOD-D*** IT! JUST GO CLEAN THE D*** TOIL—”

(At this point, my mother has had enough and speaks up in defense of the cashier.)

My Mother: “Look. She has told you she can’t clean it. She has offered solutions. Now use the dirty toilets or you can leave! You don’t have to be such a b****!”

Customer: *taken aback* “Well, I…I…HMPH!”

(She storms out, dragging her kid by the arm. After we leave a second later, we see the woman and her little daughter in the parking lot.)

Customer’s Daughter: “Goodness, Mommy! you didn’t have to be so mean to that lady. She was crying!”