The Convenience Of Being Eight
(I am at the bank with my eight-year-old son. His bladder is about to burst.)
Eight-Year-Old Son: “Excuse me, sir, where’s the restroom?”
Bank Employee: “Oh, sorry, we don’t have a restroom for customers just yet.”
Me: “Let’s use the restroom next door!”
Bank Employee: “There’s another one across the street.”
Eight-Year-Old Son: “No! We’re not going anywhere. Your sign right there says, ‘America’s Most Convenient Bank.’ Could you please let me use your restroom so I feel convenient?”
(Kid got what he fought for: access to the private restroom and complimentary pens and notepads, and had the nerve to ask if they had a lollipop! He walked out of the bank like he owned it.)
Question of the Week
Have you ever served a bad customer who got what they deserved?
