I support the stereotypical platonic family. Husband, Wife, 3.4 children, white picket fence, all that June Cleaver crap. I also support the whole foreign idea of having well behaved children.
I realize that children will be, well, children and run around with 500 tons of energy. However please allow your children to do that at your HOME or OUTSIDE, and not in my store.
I cannot count how many times I’ve wanted to throw a full bottle of Prometh-DM at some rug rat who is scaling my candy rack like some mountain climber to get to the Snickers bars. Now I understand that kids will do stupid stuff, like try to rearrange my shelves into small forts of Tylenol, or knock down all the Salon-Pas patches like dominoes. If the mother screams at the child and looks at me, I just smile and shrug as they try to half-ass undo the damage that their child has done. No harm, no foul, obviously the earrings we have for sale were worth the 5 second lapse in the continuous attention that your child requires to keep out of trouble.
BUT, when the mother just looks at the child tearing apart my shelves and ignores him (its never a her, the child is always a him) thats when I feel my hand grip around that bottle of Prometh-DM (or any other heavy bottle I can get my hands on) and the targeting computers lock onto the mothers face.
Now I know that I’m going to get flak from my readers, but its almost always the male children who get away with murder. I’m not sure if its a cultural thing, but you don’t see me driving to your house and tearing your shit off of your shelves while screaming my head off because you took the candy out of my chubby little fingers. As much as you may disagree, this is not your home country, and here children have to BEHAVE and not DESTROY things while you meekly watch from afar.
To make matters worse, its never 1 child. Oh no. In this day and age, the solution for not being able to control one over-rambunctious child is to drop out 4 more all within 10 months of each other. When that doesn’t work, bring them to some quack ass MD who will “diagnose” them all with ADD (read: the mother cant deal with them all) and load them up with Tenex and Ritalin/Adderall.
I think its time for some angry examples of what to do when the little poopers drive you to drink:
- So whats one to do as you are watching some mother stare idly into space as their 2 or 3 children run laps around the store and tear stuff off of the shelves. Well, If the father is there also staring idling around now would be a good time to show the world what bad parents they are by YELLING AT THEIR FUCKING KIDS FOR THEM. Thats right. Usually a quick sharp “HEY” will get their attention as the father (if his head is full of brains instead of just testicle juice) will realize his kids are pissing off the pharmacist and round them up/quiet them down. If that doesn’t work then you can politely ask them to control their children as you raise their price on their medications. If you still get the cow-eyes, then crumple up their prescriptions they brought in, throw them at their children, and tell them to get the fuck out.
- Sometimes they are laying on the floor bellowing out a sonic attack so loud and powerful that it flings your stock vials onto the floor. 99% of the time you are on the phone with a doctor, or someone important whom you can barely hear or understand. The proven solution to this is to put the caller on mute/hold, and tell them to QUIET DOWN because you are ON THE PHONE. Once I’ve been so pissed off at some mother who is letting the child throw a tantrum for 10 min while I’m trying to get discharge orders on the phone that a F-bomb slipped out. Seriously, don’t let your child throw a tantrum on the floors of the pharmacy. If you wish for them to throw one outside or in the comfort of the parking lot (where they can get squished) then that’s your call.
- As I’ve posted before, I have stopped giving mothers warnings that their child has pushed open the outside doors and have left the store. Yeah, call me a bad person, but I figure that if you can’t watch your children then that’s your fault not mine. I don’t get a fatty welfare check for raising that sex-trophy, so its not my responsibility. All I do is to make sure you know how to measure 1 teaspoon of amoxicillin, understand that 3 times a day means 3 times a day, and shake/refrigerate/use all up. I had nothing to do with you opening your legs to that random guy in the bar, that’s all your doing.
Behave your children, please. Its hard enough for us to work in the back with the continuous interruptions, phone calls, techs talking, computer noises and other shit going on without your “sweet & innocent” placenta-blossom throwing a 20 min fucking tantrum because you wouldn’t buy him a candy bar. Remember, we need to work so you don’t have to.