Category: Sons & Daughters

That’s A Bald Prophecy

| Campbell, CA, USA | Children, Sons & Daughters

(When I was about four, I was told about male-pattern baldness and the fact that it will happen to me eventually.. For the next week or so, I would inform random strangers that:)

4-Year-Old Me: “When I get old my hair’s gonna go VOOM, just like Daddy’s!”

Owning A Smart Phone Requires Smarts

| Northbrook, IL, USA | Sons & Daughters

(Our store is WHITE, as in, BRIGHT WHITE, so as to accent the products we sell. A group of three or four kids come in on a busy Friday night, and proceed to mess around with the store. They finally pay for their items and leave. I notice, a few minutes later, that one of them left their phone on our counter. It’s a rather large BLACK phone, on a WHITE counter. Kid must not have been paying attention at all. It’s kind of a fancy phone, too, and because I had just recently gotten my first smartphone, I was protective about it, and didn’t want the kid to lose his. I tell my manager and coworkers and leave the phone behind the registers, in case he comes back. About twenty minutes go by and the kid hasn’t returned. I ask my manager if I could possibly call a parent from the phone, and he gives the okay. I turn the phone on, and there are several missed calls from the mother. I decide to call her back.)

Mother: “WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN?! I’VE BEEN TRYING TO CALL YOU ALL NIGHT—”

Me: “Ma’am.”

Mother: “—WAIT UNTIL I TELL YOUR FATHER YOU HAVEN’T BEEN PICKING UP YOUR PHONE—”

Me: “Ma’am, my name is [My Name] and I’m calling from [Store]. I’m just calling to let you know your son left his phone in our store and hasn’t been back to pick it up.”

Mother: “Wait, what? He left his phone in your… How did he do that?”

Me: “I’m not sure, ma’am, but he was with a group.”

Mother: “Well, how did he do that? That phone was his responsibility!”

Me: “Ma’am, if you know any of his friends, or their numbers, I could call and let them know—”

Mother: “No, no, he was out with friends. I don’t know any of his friends’ names or phone numbers… God, you’d think the kid would… You know what? My daughter is out with her own friends there, too, and I’ll let her know to pick up the phone. Would that work?”

Me: “That would be fine, ma’am—”

Mother: “Okay, great, thanks so much. You’ve been a real help. Bye!”

Me: “Wait, wait, wait, MA’AM, can I get a description of your daughter so I know who to give the phone to?”

Mother: “Oh, yes, yes, of course! She has long reddish hair and looks just like her brother.”

(Note: I have no idea who this kid is. He was with a group, and frankly, all kids look about the same to me.)

Me: “Great… thanks.”

(Not ten minutes later a girl walks in with her friends. She has reddish hair, and indeed looks familiar. She’s smirking.)

Daughter: “Hey, I’m here to pick up my brother’s phone?”

Me: “Oh, yes, thanks. Here you go.”

Daughter: “You know, that’s the second time he’s done that tonight. No more phone privileges for him!”

Dish-Scam

| Holyoke, MA, USA | Sons & Daughters

(My son detests dollar stores while I love them.)

Me: “Wait a minute. I want to go into the dollar store and get a new dishpan.”

Son: “Why can’t you get one at [Big Store]?”

Me: “I don’t feel like walking that far and besides, they’re the same brand, made by the same company.”

Son: “They’re probably counterfeit.”

Me: “Nobody counterfeits dishpans.”

‘GO’ To Bed

| UT, USA | Children, Sons & Daughters

(We’re getting our toddler ready for bed, which involves prayers, hugs and kisses, and then a song or two. I’m usually the one who sings him a song and tucks him in to end. My husband left the room and closed the door behind him, like he always does.)

Toddler: *reaching for the door immediately after it closed* “Papa!”

Me: *opening the door* “I think he’s asking for you tonight.”

(My husband came back in the room and I asked our son if he wanted to go to daddy instead. He dove out of my arms into my husband’s, looked me in the eye, pointed at the door, and said “GO!”)

A Polite Service

| BC, Canada | Sons & Daughters

(We’re enjoying a quiet afternoon together at home when my son, who has inherited the sarcasm gene, says:)

Son: “Fetch me a drink, servant.”

Me: *faking shock* “What?!”

Son: “Fetch me a drink, servant, PLEASE.”

Me: “Well, seeing as how you asked all nice…”

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