Friday, November 12, 2010

Serial Killer ID vs. Daughter's Lesson

So much has been going on lately, I felt the need to write a RANDOM post. *ECHOes shriek over the hills and through the woods, taking a sharp jut toward the water.*


~ The other day, I'm standing in line at our local pharmacy, excited that my daughter and I are first in line. *Raspy cheers and climatic applause dote on me, as I do my private motionless happy dance.*


I then step forward and place my items on the counter. The clerk says to me, "Do you have our discount card."


I fiddle with the zipper on my Ed Hardy satchel and nodded, "Sure."


A voice drivels from the clerks lips, teasing, taunting me to misunderstand. I see his lips waving up and then down. Suddenly his tongue darts out of his mouth, sliding gently, moistening his mouth. His tone deepens to a manly baritone that catapults me back in time.


"But do you have our new and improved card that will get you better service?" His eyes pull me nearer. I buy into my make believe world for a moment, hoping I've lapsed back into that dream I had the other night: a guy wearing tight jeans, a white unbutton dress shirt hanging by his hips, his stomach muscles pulsating in the breeze... Yikes! Did this dude just ask if I have the NEW and IMPROVED card? Crud. 


His face and eyes revert back to average, his muscles...what muscles? "Here's an application form, Mame," he says. "Just fill this part out..."


Mame? Dude, you just went from hot-wannabe to clerk-who's-about-to-lose-his-job. His voice erased from my mind, drowned out by the damn, damn, damn running circles in my head. I fake a smile and move to a square of empty counterspace, giving up my place in line. 


Once I wrote down my name, rank, and serial number--more like serial killer ID, if I ever agree to do this again--I glance up fully intending to retake my place in front of the vacant cash register. To my amazement, eight people are now filed in line. EIGHT. WTgrr.....? 


For those who didn't read my issue with LINES,  go HERE


I stand there with my tween daughter who thinks she could have done better. Annoyance begins to suffocate me as I hear the first lady in line say, "I should have gotten the lighter hair  color box. Could you be a dear and get it for me," she says to the clerk.  


Really? Really lady? You need a different color. Than step out of line LIKE I DID and help yourself. 


No, the clerk goes and gets the new color for her, preserving her space in line. What? Do I have three heads? Yeah, he's definitely not the steamy studmuffin from my dream.


The next few peeps move along better. I start feeling better. 


Then this young father dressed in ragged jeans, a torn T-shirt, flip-flops that had seen better days starts rummaging around in his pockets. His little girl, no more than two years old, is pressed firmly against his chest. She peers at me from over his shoulder. A sweet smile brightens her face. The clerk tips his chin up; his eyes taking in the length of the line. He glares at the young father and mumbles a few words. Soon the slapping of flip-flops panders out the door, bare little feet dangling by the father's hips. The sliding door wooshes, air fading in, fading out.


Once I amble up to the register, my turn finally unveiled, I realize that the little girl must have had a cold. A box of children's medicine lay tipped to the back of the register. I frantically gawk outside, hoping to spot the father, the little girl. Both are gone.   


My shoulders sag. That poor guy only wanted to buy his child medicine, but obviously didn't have the money. I would have bought him a case if I could have found him.


I purchase my items.


My daughter and I wander aimlessly to the car, similar thoughts ransacking our heads. Finally she turns to me and says, "She's sick isn't she?"


"I think so, honey." I gulp the lump in my throat.


"You were going to buy that medicine for them, weren't you?"


I click the open lock button on my key remote. "Yes. But they're gone."


"I think I get it." My daughter elbows the roof of the car. "I mean, you and dad say no to us sometimes, but you're able to take care of us."


And just for laughs....
...morning 2 after school started this year. Yeah, I think they were tired.

Happy Weekend, Everyone!!

19 comments:

  1. Aw, that's sad. And how sweet of Kate to recognize the situation and make a quick connection to her own life. Sharp girl!

    I hate those discount cards! Is the item on sale, or not? If it is, give me the damn sale price!

    I'm pretty sure if you don't have a card, and you ask them to use the "store card" they have to give you the discount anyway.

    Line people who irk me: People who get in the express line with *way* over the limit and then wait until everything is painstakingly packed in the cart before breaking out their *checkbook!* Ugh!

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  2. You have a wonderful little girl (well she not that little).To observe and make the connection is great.
    I hate lines, and then line jumpers... don't get me started.
    The photo is really funny.
    Have a great weekend!

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  3. Ah, I wish you were able to buy the child the meds. I know I've bought stuff for the person in front of me before when they didn't have enough money. It makes us feel so good, doesn't it?

    I agree with your take on lines.

    CD

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  4. Great slice-of-life post, Sheri! Your daughter sounds like an insightful young person. Thanks for sharing!!

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  5. What a touching story--and so riveting! Nice job! :D

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  6. I loved reading this bit of reality. Poor dad! I feel so bad for them. I hope they're okay.
    That pict of your kids looks, uh, very much like my kids in the morning after they get dressed. They just lie back on the floor until I bark, "Breakfast!"

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  7. HI I CAN MAKE ANYONE A I.D. THAT WILL SCAN AND HAVE HOLOGRAM, AND IT WILL PASS ALL UV LIGHT TEST. YOU WILL BE ABLE TO USE THIS I.D. ANYWHERE AT THE BARS,CLUBS,STORES,AND BANKS. THIS WILL BE A FLAWLESS I.D. COMING FROM ME IF YOU WANT MORE INFORMATION EMAIL WORKSTUDIO360@GMAIL.COM

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  8. That is so heartbreaking. Your daughter seems smart, though tired

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  9. Yeah, I wished I would have caught up to the dad, too.

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  10. Aw, I feel so badly for the little sick girl! :( But you're doing a wonderful job with your girl. It takes maturity to understand what she learned.

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  11. *sniffle, sniffle* My heart just cracked. That is so sad, Sheri. I would have reacted the same way you did. It's wonderful your daughter saw the bigger picture, though. Did your mommy heart just melt? :-)

    Have a great weekend!

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  12. Touching post. It's so nice to know our kids are actually paying attention when it counts :)

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  13. great story, and love the pict! now that's tired!

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  14. The story of the dad and his little girl just breaks my heart. It's so easy to take all we have for granted, and forget that there are people really struggling out there. Thanks for the reminder.

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  15. Oh, what a heart tugging story, Sheri! I wish you had been able to buy the med's for the little girl...It was lovely that your daughter recognized what you and your husband do for your family and were willing to do for others. Nice job of parenting! WTG! (I like the new look!)

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  16. Sheri, what a wonderful role model for your kiddos! Sweet post!
    Like the new digs, too! Very hip!

    (Oh, man, did I just say "hip?"

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  17. That was a little heartbreaking. :-(

    ficklecattle.blogspot.com

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