Drag Me To Hell

I'm pretty sure I emanate a sort of holier-than-thou sort of attitude. Trust me when I say that I don't intend to convey that I'm somehow perfect or superior. I'm far from it. I've had a plethora of unfortunate incidences with customers that were entirely my fault and I'm fully willing to admit that.
 
One time specifically I was gathering a small order for what was a rather standard mother daughter customer combination. The mother had to be in her early forties and the little girl couldn't have been more than eight. When I brought their food over to the counter and placed it in front of them the mom handed me a credit card. The order couldn't have gone any smoother. She was on top of the payment, she was seemingly satisfied with her food and she was perfectly pleasant.
 
After a few beats, the credit card machine fully processed the order and chugged out a copy of paper that the customer needed to sign. I handed the woman the slip and nonchalantly fished out a pink pen from behind our counter. That's when the kid chimed in and said, "Why do you have a bright pink pen?" I was in a good mood and the question was innocent enough to where I thought I'd respond. As a rule I generally ignore children in an effort to remind them that they're less than human until they turn the ripe old age of 18. In my opinion it should be law that all human beings under the age of consent should be kenneled. Just imagine the utopia we'd be living in. There wouldn't be a single line at Disneyland, movies wouldn't look like a starry night sky that's lit with the illuminated smartphones of a hundred preteens, and teenage pregnancy would completely disappear. Our society would be an unfettered paradise. Sure, there might be some unknown consequences to creating a whole generation of imprisoned latchkey kids, but the social awkwardness and severe spike in rickets would be well worth the reward of not having to endure little jam hands sticking their Toaster Strudel encrusted fingers all over every reflective surface within arms reach. Also, influenza, herpes and other communicable diseases would absolutely drop off the map. Without the petri dish known as school to harbor the majority of these illnesses and STD's, the fountain of funk that kids bring home would dry up quicker than my girlfriend after seeing me with my shirt off. There might be a slight problem with educating the crusty cretins while they're in lockup, though, but I'll flesh out the bugs and the minutia that might present itself once my program starts to gain some political momentum.

But I digress. The kid's question about my slightly homoerotic pen was a valid one. Plus, my home prison idea wasn't in effect yet, so I thought I'd answer her. I said, "The reason our store has a bunch of pink pens is because we picked them up in honor of breast awareness month." Do you see the problem there? For those that missed it, I should have said, "Breast CANCER awareness month." There's a big difference between the two celebrations. breast cancer awareness occurs in the month of October. I'd say the other 11 months and the majority of the rest of the world wide web covers the remainder of the majestic celebration that is breast awareness.

The look that the mom gave me was of utter shock. The horror in her eyes suggested that I had just violated her eight year-old's spirit with the business end of an entire bulk pack of pink ballpoint pens. It also didn't help that a co-worker of mine that was standing right behind me proceeded to burst out laughing. Leaving me to try and cover my ass instead of just being able to ignore my idiotic indiscretion. And by cover my ass I mean I just stuttered my way through saying "breast cancer awareness" another half dozen times to make sure that the mom knew what I meant. I think the number of times I emphatically and nervously re-said "breast" just hurt my cause further. The whole situation would have been less painful if I had just taken off my work visor, walked out out of the store and stepped into oncoming traffic. And to my douchebag of a co-worker that started laughing. Your welcome. I fully acknowledge that I would have laughed at my misfortune too, but at least excuse yourself into the back before you essentially highlight the fact that my name is about to get added to Megan's List.

The mom and girl eventually left the store. Luckily, they never complained. They were more than content to just leave with a look of disgust on their face. They left just like my self-esteem did when my confidence with being able to socialize with the general public shattered.

This is my way of saying sorry to all of the customers that I have wronged in some way. It won't end here, though. I will continue to say unfortunate things because I completely lack charisma and the ability to properly articulate myself. To me, this is all more of a reason to imprison anyone that can't legally buy a bottle of cough syrup without presenting ID. Let's just store them in a crawl space until they have 'D' cups. That way I don't feel guilty about celebrating breast awareness and I can misspeak without feeling like I'm channeling the spirit of Jerry Sandusky.