I was working last week when I heard a customer speaking loudly to my manager. I stopped to see what was happening, but before I could hear much, I had a girl who I would guess to be preteen or possibly younger come up to me, towing a younger boy by his hand.

Girl: “You work here?”

Me: “Yes.”

Girl: “Do you have a security person or something?”

Me: “Not really, but I can probably help you.”

Girl: “Um, you might need to call the police then.”

Me: “What’s wrong?”

The girl points to the aggressive woman who’s talking to [Manager].

Girl: “She’s going to knock things over and break things.”

Me: “I wouldn’t worry, [Manager] is really good at dealing with upset customers.”

Girl: “…she always ends up breaking things.”

The girl sounded uncertain about talking to me, but also quite convinced she was right. Odder still, the little boy with her nodded sagely despite looking too young to even understand what was happening.

Me: “You’re certain?”

Girl: “Yeah.”

So far, the woman sounded a bit irate, but no worse than other customers we have dealt with before, and I wasn’t comfortable calling in the cops for relatively minor misbehavior and a random girl’s say-so.

Luckily, I had a second option: I had seen a regular who I know is a cop not too long ago, so I excused myself and ran to ask the regular if she would be willing to come over just in case she’s needed. 

By the time I got back with [Regular], the woman had escalated to full-on shouting, and before I’d had time to figure out what she was upset about, she ended up lunging at [Manager], trying to punch him. Luckily, [Regular] was ready and stepped in. [Regular] sort of half interrupted the punch and half dove in front of it, taking it to her arm. She then proceeded to inform the woman that she was under arrest for assaulting an officer.

While this was all happening, [Girl] came back with her brother in tow.

Girl: “Could someone call our dad, please?”

Me: “Sure, you can borrow my cell if you want.”

[Girl] proceeded to call her dad and basically tell him that “mom did it again” before arranging for him to come pick the two up. After she hung up, she handed the phone back to me.

Girl: “Thanks.”

Me: “It’s fine. I’m sorry about your mom.”

Rather than sounding upset, [Girl] actually sounded happy.

Girl: “It’s okay. This was her last chance. We won’t have to visit her anymore!”

She then turns to her brother.

Girl: “Dad’s coming, we can go back to his house!”

The brother got a wide grin and gave a happy sound. I was dragged away for work reasons around this time, so I didn’t get to witness the full arrest or the dad’s final picking up of his kids, but I’m told the kids continued to seem excited about going home to their dad’s and not the least bit surprised or overly upset about their mom’s arrest.

I pray that when I finally become a parent, I can manage to at least not be so terrible that my own kids celebrate my arrest.

Turns out that the woman’s original tirade at [Manager] was because she felt we weren’t taking good enough care of her children while she shopped.

I hate spiders.

When my son was about four, we were riding in the car, and I heard his voice pipe up with:

Son: “Mom! There’s a spider on your shoulder!”

I naturally freak out and wriggle around trying to brush it off.

Me: “Is it gone?”

Son: “Yeah, I don’t see it”.

A few minutes later, he breaks the silence again by saying:

Son: “Oh, he was getting a friend.”

Kid: “How much does Toasty (our dog) weigh?”

Me: “About ninety pounds.”

Kid: *Long pause.* “How much is that in dog pounds?”

Me: “Dogs don’t have their own pounds.”

Kid: *Even longer pause.* “So what’s a dog pound?”

Me: “I feel like this is a Dad Joke that I didn’t make and got out of hand…”

Our shoe store is doing a “buy one, get one half off” sale. The way it works is you buy a more expensive pair, and you get the cheaper of the two for half the price. 

A woman is buying two pairs of kids’ shoes for her two kids.

Customer: *Looking at her receipt.* “Wait! Why isn’t this other pair cheaper!?”

Me: “That second pair is half off, ma’am, so it’s $30. The regular price was $60.”

Customer: “It ain’t buy one get one free?!”

Me: “No, ma’am.” *I point to the very clear sign.* “It’s buy one, get one half off.”

Customer: “Return this one then. Thirty is too much. The little one is a foster kid; he’s not worth it.”

I couldn’t help but look at the smaller child, and he didn’t even blink. I really hope it wasn’t because he was used to being treated like that.

My manager, who overheard and whose heart broke at the comment, stepped in and was able to override the system to make it “buy one get one free” so that the poor kid could get a new pair of shoes just like his ‘sibling’.

After she leaves, another customer voices their opinion.

Other Customer: “She probably did that on purpose, you realize?”

Manager: “Did what?”

Other Customer: “The whole ‘foster kid’ bleeding heart routine. She probably lied to make you give her the other pair of shoes for free. Shoulda held firm.”

Manager: “Maybe. But if you’re right, the poor kid has a monster of a mother who is willing to deny him new shoes for a scam. And if you’re wrong, he still has a monster of a foster mother who is unwilling to pay for new shoes. Either way, I made sure the poor kid got a d*** pair of shoes.”

The other customer shrugged, but didn’t argue.

A few years back, I was doing my shift at the play area in IKEA since you alternate between that and the registers. It’s pretty calm, all the kids are playing on their own, when a girl comes up to me.

Girl: “I can’t find my little brother.”

Me: “What’s his name?”

Girl: “It’s [Name]. He’s four.”

Me: *Calmly.* “I’ll go and look.”

I assume he’s lying under some pillows on the raised area where they can watch some cartoons. I climb the stairs and look under all the pillows, but no one is up there, hmm. I check everywhere else I think a kid might hide. Still can’t find him. At this point, I start to worry a bit.

All the kids have vests with numbers on them, and parents fill out a form with some information like the name of the kid and the parent, and a phone number, so I start checking against those… 

There’s one kid missing.

I recheck thrice, same result. He can’t have gotten out; there are two gates that are magnetically locked, and I’ve been standing between them, so there’s no way for him to have slipped by me.

I call store security and tell them a kid is missing.

I somehow manage to stay somewhat calm. Security arrives, and the parents get called. Everyone is now in the play area and is looking around, even the kids. My pulse is steadily increasing every minute that passes.

After about fifteen to twenty minutes, a boy comes up to me.

Boy: “Someone is crying under the balls in the ball pit.”

Me: “Can you show me where?”

We rush over; I can hear a boy softly crying, but I can’t see him. I reach down into the ball pit, feel a limb, and fish the boy out by his arm like he’s a prize fish and feel the greatest sense of relief I think I’ve ever felt. I hand him over to his parents, who are crying from a probably even greater sense of relief at this point. 

The boy had slipped under when trying to climb up out of the ball pit and panicked and froze, and luckily, it was at the edge of the ball pit because the kids love to run and jump into it. 

An hour or two later, as I’m eating lunch, I can feel my hands start to shake as the adrenaline leaves my body, only leaving me with a story to tell where I can tell people I once lost a child at sea! (Ball pits are known as ballseas in Swedish, “bollhav”.)