Wednesday, January 12, 2011

And speaking of resolutions...

Perhaps I should have made a New Year's resolution to NOT yell at the girl working at the pretzel place in the mall.

But seriously? She was an idiot. I’m sorry to say that, ESPECIALLY after my post about how important it was that we treat all people with respect, and allow them to have a little dignity when they are doing their job. ESPECIALLY when they are serving your food. Because of the ‘spit factor’, and everything?

That was before I took my two youngest children to the mall after school to run an errand. They wanted a snack. They were peckish (I do so love that word.) What’s a mom to do when it’s nary an hour before dinner, and we still have to hit Bath & Body Works for the antibacterial soap sale??? (I’m THROUGH with sickies. We stocked up.)

It’s soft pretzel time! They both wanted the cinnamon sugar pretzels, so I got them the cup of pretzel sticks. Six, yummy soft pretzel sticks for two kids… a good compromise. Enough for a snack, but not enough to spoil their dinner.

I paid for them, and took out three to put on a napkin for Libby. I pulled out the other three for Davis… and they were completely smashed and stuck together. They were welded together in a cinnamony-sugary-smash-squishery mass. (oh, I’m a soft pretzel poet.)

I politely asked the girl working behind the counter… “I’m sorry, but can I get three more? These are all smooshed.” (And yes, I did say ‘smooshed’.)

So she took them from me…


and laid them on the countertop…







and then used her fingers and her pretzel-grabbin’ tongs to rip and pry apart the cinnamony-sugary-smash-squishery mass.





And then she put the ripped, mangled pieces back in the cup… and HANDED. IT. TO. ME.




Oh, damn.

And with 4 people in line behind me, and seeing my boy’s face looking at his shredded snack… well, I became *that* customer. The crazy, pretzel-cup-waving, loony-toon, demanding unsmashed, unmolested pretzel sticks. I admit it wasn’t my proudest moment.

Both kids were in awe, though, and later recounted the story to their sister… and their dad… and each other. Over and over. And they’ve even added their own versions.

So if Libby tells you the story of the time Momma went all ape-sh*t at the pretzel place, she TOTALLY added the part about me hitting the lady with my bag of antibacterial gels. I absolutely didn’t.

1 comment:

Pamela said...

I returned a White Russian one time bc the milk was sour. ick! I know! But the bartender argued that it wasn't sour, and proceeded to taste it, and say 'See? It's fine.' AND SHE HANDED IT BACK TO ME--As if I'm gonna be all happy, and drink on. ummm...NO! Disgusting! Need I say more?