I’ve had several requests for this one. Amber, Linda, here you go. My son Brian was 10, 11, around that age. He needed new tennis shoes. Bear in mind, this was before Air Jordan’ s etc. He & I went to the Mall one Saturday, to a shoe store. You browse & try on shoes by yourself. If you Have to have help, someone will eventually come help you. Brian & I picked out the pair of shoes he wanted & when the guy, “Brad”, came by to check on us, I told him the shoe Brian wanted & asked him the price. I told him the size we needed. He took his little shoe thingie and measured Brian’s foot. He told me that my son needed one size smaller than the size I had requested. What followed was a verbal tennis match between myself & Brad concerning how to buy the proper shoes for an 11 year old boy. Thus, Brad – “I can not sell you the size that you want. They will not fit your son. I have been sellng shoes for 2 years & I Know what size you need to buy! If you buy this size anyway, and leave this store, you can Not return them!” At this point, he is getting red in the face. I looked at Brian and His face was red, as well. He pulled on my arm. “Come on, Mom, let’s just go! I don’t want the shoes, anymore.” I looked at my son’s embarrassed face, put the shoes back in their box, and Brian & I left the shoe store. All the way home, I was fuming! Talk to me like I was in kindergarten! Embarrass my son in public! Oh, I was soo mad! Plus, Brian Still didn’t have any shoes! I thought about it all night. Should I call this guy’s boss and report him? Get him fired? Finally, I decided what I would do. Monday morning, I got up and went to the bank. The day before, Brad had told me the cost of that pair of shoes, including tax. I got a bank bag and counted out the exact amount in quarters, nickels, dimes, and pennies. I drove to the mall, locked my purse in my car, and took only the bank bag into the shoe store. I picked up the pair of shoes that Brian wanted in the size that I wanted. I walked up to the check out counter & Brad waited on me. He didn’t remember me, of course. He rang up the shoes on the register, told me what I owed, and I opened the bank bag. His eyes got wide when he saw the change & he asked me did I have a check or credit card. I told him, “My son saved his piggy bank money for these shoes.” As Brad started to count out $62.87 in change, I leaned over the counter towards him, lowered my voice and said, “I was in here yesterday, with my son. You waited on us. I know you don’t remember me, but I did this on purpose. You embarrassed my son and I could have reported your behavior to your boss. Instead, I chose to take this time to speak to you. I don’t know if you plan to sell shoes for the rest of your life or not. But there are a couple of things that you need to know. Brian is not my First child – he is my third! I have been buying tennis shoes for kids since before you were born. You need to nderstand that the customer is Always Right!” At this point, Brad says, “Well, it’s my Job to tell you,….” “Yes, it is your job to tell me that, but once you do, and I still want what I want, you don’t have the right to argue with me. I am the customer – I am Always right”! I don’t know whatever happened to “Brad”, but I hope he learned something that day! Stay tuned.
My mother and father had 3 children and Sarah, all her life, worked outside the home. This was at a time when most women didn’t. She was a telephone operator for 15 yrs. We had housekeepers who stayed with us when I was little. Later, my grandmother came to live with us. Anyway, Sarah and my Daddy worked full time. When they were home with us, it was a peaceful time. I was never spanked as a child (yeah, that explains a lot, right?). Not by my parents, anyway. I do remember a couple of times my grandmother taking a switch to my legs. That flipping Hurt! Old coot! Anyway the point of this is that when Sarah went into the nursing home, and started physically hitting people, that was totally out of character! Rosewood called me one day and said, “Ms. Sarah is okay but…we had a screamer on the hallway this morning. Before anyone could catch her, Sarah had rolled her wheelchair up to the screaming woman, doubled her fist and acting like she was knocking on a door, started wrapping the woman on her forehead, shouting – Shut Up, Shut Up, Shut Up!!” They separated the women, (no the lady did Not quit screaming), and Sarah had to go to time out! They explained to me that many times, dementia patients will resort to hitting because they loose the use of their words! Not my Mother! She knows what shut up is! Stay tuned.
When I bought Trixie 17 years ago, I got her at a local pet store. (I know, I hear ya!) Brian’s golden retriever had been hit by a car the week before and he was devastated! I called the local animal shelter, daily, trying to find a small dog for inside the house. Doug refused to fence our yard in and I wasn’t going to take a chance on another “outside” dog getting hit by a car. Anyway, better than a week passed and theanimal shelter never had a small dog. So I went to the pet store and picked out Trixie. The pet store owner said she was 6 weeks old and weaned. She said the “bump” on Trixie’s belly would go away, because they had given her medicine. I took her home and let Brian name her. Doug was mad because he didn’t want a small dog in the house. Brian let Trixie stay in his room one night and he was done with her! Anyway, when I got her home, she did not eat or drink anything for two days! I thought, my God, I have spent $450 on this dog and she’s going to die on me! I rushed her to the vet. He said, she was only 4 weeks old, not 6 and she was NOT weaned! Furthermore, the “bump” on her belly was a hernia. No “medicine” would make it go away. He said to take home, give her warm milk to drink and soft scramble her an egg twice a day. He would do the hernia repair in a couple of weeks. Doug and Brian both groused about how much trouble she was. How I should have gotten a “real” dog; not some little “rat” that was causing so much trouble. Well, you get the idea. Doug would feed her in the mornings, while I got ready for work. I would come home at night and feed her. Except for occasionally throwing her a ball, Brian had checked out of the whole business. This went on for about a month. One morning, as I walked into the kitchen, Doug was at the stove, scrambling an egg. As I walked in, he said, “I love you, honey.” I said, “Oh, that’s sweet! I love you, too.” His face turned bright red and he said, “Uh, I was talking to the dog!” So began 17 years spent happily with our Best Friend! Early this last Friday morning, her little heart gave out and she became an angel. Rest in Peace our sweet girl! You were truly loved and will be greatly missed! Love, Mama. Stay tuned.