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This would probably be best as a “Sighting” but since my mother and I became directly involved, I thought I would put it here.
Anyway, my mom and I were going around town filling out job applications to anywhere that would give me one, and we had just happened to stop at Wal-Mart.
For the record, my mom is exactly like me...except bigger, meaner, more sarcastic, wittier, and even more confrontational, if you can believe that. She does NOT hesitate to get in the face of ANYONE who she thinks deserves it. In other words, she can be a retail worker's biggest defender…although also my worst enemy…
We had gotten the application and were sitting on a bench, my mom reading my information to me so I could write it down faster, when this burly ass of a redneck came tromping up, wheeling a cart that contained a 55-gallon metal drum.
Now, being born and raised in rural Arkansas, I am uniquely qualified to label "redneck" when I see it, and man, this was it in spades. Greasy brown mullet sticking out from under a black cap that had probably started life being tan, camoflaugue hunting coveralls with the sleeves cut off, bright orange vest sewn to the outfit, dirty workman's boots, visible missing teeth, you name it, we've got it. It was like God pulled the word redneck out of Webster's and cursed it with human flesh.
Anyway, Captain Atrocity marches over to the (previously) clean counter and slams his oil-stained hands down, leaning over to get in the face of the poor girl who happened to be standing there.
RedNeck: "AH WANT MAH SEED FEED RIGHT NAW!!"
Poor Girl: "Excuse me?"
RN: "AH BOUGHT MAH BAHREL AN AH WANT MAH SEED FEED!! IT S'POSED T'COME IN DAH BAHREL AN IT AIN'T HERE!!"
I'm going to paraphrase the ranting for space...essentially, he had gone to the hunting section and found a barrel designed for deer food...basically bait. He assumed that the empty barrel, being advertised as a food cannister, came with a full amount of deer bait, but became quite irate when he realized this barrel was empty. So far as I know, he didn't check the other barrels to see if they, also, were empty, just decided he wanted this one regardless, and, upon finding no one to assist him within ten seconds of standing around in the hunting department, decided to come halfway across the store to layaway, where we all were currently, and demand the food be put into the drum.
My mother and I watched this display in our usual manner of "Oh goody a train wreck", while the poor layaway girl, who had no clue, stammered out that she would call someone from the department for help. This did not satisfy the redneck, as he began slamming his fist on the (no longer clean) counter.
RN: "NAW! NAW! NAW! NOBUDDY OVA DERE! AH WANT MAH SEED FEED AN AH WANT IT NA-OW! GET MAH SEED FEED!"
PG: "I'm going to call someone right now to come assist you-,"
RN: "AH WANT MAH SEED FEED!"
Finally, my mother can stand it no more.
Mom: "She said she was gonna call someone to help you, you dumb bastard!"
RN: “AIN’T NOBUDDY OVA DERE!!”
PG: *runs to make a phone call and hide in the back*
The redneck just keeps pounding the counter and yelling that he wants his “seed feed”, and I’m looking at my mother, wanting very desperately to just leave before this lunatic pulls a shotgun out of his pants and starts redecorating. But she tells me “No, we’re going to stay and make sure he doesn’t do something insane until someone else gets here.” Great. A 50-year-old woman with one kidney and me vs. a possibly shotgun-wielding unrealized serial killer. My day is improving with leaps and bounds.
I’m not sure what PG said to whoever over the phone, but after a couple of minutes, a manager shows up, flanked by two cart pushers and what I assume to be a butcher. One of the cart pushers heads into the back to check on PG while the other three men confront Redneck.
Manager: “All right, sir, what seems to be the problem here?”
RN: “AH WANT MAH SEED FEED!! AH PAID FOR IT AND AH WANT IT!!”
Manager: *examines barrel* “Sir, this isn’t feed, this-,”
RN: “AH KNOW DAT, DUMBASS, IT’S A EMPTY BAHREL AND AH WANT MAH FEED!!”
Manager: “Sir, this is just the feeder, no food comes with it.”
RN: “NUH-UH!!” (Brilliant argument, that. I bet this one was in debate club at Ye Old El‘Mentary Skool.)
Manager: “I’m afraid so, sir…this barrel is $20, if you wanted one with full feed, it would probably be around $75 or so.” (Ah, so THAT’S what this is about. Idjit thought he found a terrific deal.)
RN: *pointing to label* “IT SAYS FEEDA RIGHT HEAH!!”
Manager: “Yes, sir. This is a FEEDER. It does not come with feed.”
At this point, the cart pusher and PG peek around the door to see what’s going on, and Redneck leaps at the chance to try again.
RN: *pointing to PG* “SHE SAID SHE’D GET YA’LL TO COME FILL IT FOR ME!!”
Before PG can even begin to explain, my mother jumps in again.
Mom: “No she didn’t, you liar!”
Me: *hanging head, face in hands, wishing to vanish through floor, wondering if this is mother’s way of getting back at me for the misbehaving I did when I was younger* “Jesus, Mama.”
Mom: “He’s a liar! She didn’t say any such thing! My daughter and I were right here the entire time!”
Me: “JESUS, Mama!” (Some days, you just don’t want to get involved, but oh well.)
Mom: “What?”
RN: “SHE DID TOO SAY IT!!”
Mom: “She didn’t and you know it, you freaking liar!”
RN: “AH AIN’T NO GODDAMN LIAH!!”
Mom: “You’re a liar and a cheapskate hog fucker!” (She kisses my father with this mouth??)
At that point, Redneck sets his sights on my mom, big no-no. I’m tired and I don’t want to be here, but when he started towards my mom, I stood, picked up the chair I had been sitting in, and got between him and her. At this point, the manager clearly can tell the situation is about to get far beyond his control and will end in bloodshed, police sirens, and front page coverage unless he steps in now.
Manager: *moving in front of redneck, butcher and cart boy 2 flanking perfectly* “All right, sir, I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to take your things and leave.”
RN: “YA’LL CAN’T DO THIS!! AH BOUGHT MY SEED FEED-!!”
Mom: “You didn’t buy it! You told that girl you put it in your cart and brought it right over here!”
Anyway watch Family Guy? Remember the episode where Lois learned martial arts and Peter took her to a bar to beat out all the New Yorkers? I’m feeling like that right about now. My mom keeps talking her big game while I’m the one standing there brandishing a cheap wooden chair and trying to remember whether charging opponents calls for a knee-lock takedown or a rolling arm scissor.
Mom: “Don’t let him take that stuff! It’s not his or he’d have a receipt!”
RN: *not producing a receipt* “AH BOUGHT IT!!”
Manager: “All right, look, get out of here right now, sir, before I have the police come.”
RN: “IT’S MINE!!”
Manager: “Unless you can show me a receipt, I’ll have to take the ladies’ word for it, sir.”
Mom: “He didn’t buy it!”
Redneck continues to protest loudly, screaming about suing and going to the press and calling his lawyer, so forth and so on, while the butcher and the two cart pushers start herding him out the back door so they don’t have to drag his manic ass through the entire store. PG comes out, visibly shaken, while the manager turns to address all three of us.
Manager: “Are you ladies all right?”
Mom: *reaches over, takes the finished application from where it fell on the floor, holds it out to the manager* “My daughter’s looking for a part-time job in the evenings.”
Somehow, I don’t think I’ll be getting a call back.
After all this, I decided it was time to go home. I was in a pretty foul mood after the encounter, so when some dumbass on the road cut me off, I gave him the Stone Cold Salute (sign language everyone knows, heh). To which my mother replied, “You really shouldn’t do that. You don’t know who has a gun these days.”
…I swear, if she hadn’t given birth to me, I’d kill her…
Anyway, my mom and I were going around town filling out job applications to anywhere that would give me one, and we had just happened to stop at Wal-Mart.
For the record, my mom is exactly like me...except bigger, meaner, more sarcastic, wittier, and even more confrontational, if you can believe that. She does NOT hesitate to get in the face of ANYONE who she thinks deserves it. In other words, she can be a retail worker's biggest defender…although also my worst enemy…
We had gotten the application and were sitting on a bench, my mom reading my information to me so I could write it down faster, when this burly ass of a redneck came tromping up, wheeling a cart that contained a 55-gallon metal drum.
Now, being born and raised in rural Arkansas, I am uniquely qualified to label "redneck" when I see it, and man, this was it in spades. Greasy brown mullet sticking out from under a black cap that had probably started life being tan, camoflaugue hunting coveralls with the sleeves cut off, bright orange vest sewn to the outfit, dirty workman's boots, visible missing teeth, you name it, we've got it. It was like God pulled the word redneck out of Webster's and cursed it with human flesh.
Anyway, Captain Atrocity marches over to the (previously) clean counter and slams his oil-stained hands down, leaning over to get in the face of the poor girl who happened to be standing there.
RedNeck: "AH WANT MAH SEED FEED RIGHT NAW!!"
Poor Girl: "Excuse me?"
RN: "AH BOUGHT MAH BAHREL AN AH WANT MAH SEED FEED!! IT S'POSED T'COME IN DAH BAHREL AN IT AIN'T HERE!!"
I'm going to paraphrase the ranting for space...essentially, he had gone to the hunting section and found a barrel designed for deer food...basically bait. He assumed that the empty barrel, being advertised as a food cannister, came with a full amount of deer bait, but became quite irate when he realized this barrel was empty. So far as I know, he didn't check the other barrels to see if they, also, were empty, just decided he wanted this one regardless, and, upon finding no one to assist him within ten seconds of standing around in the hunting department, decided to come halfway across the store to layaway, where we all were currently, and demand the food be put into the drum.
My mother and I watched this display in our usual manner of "Oh goody a train wreck", while the poor layaway girl, who had no clue, stammered out that she would call someone from the department for help. This did not satisfy the redneck, as he began slamming his fist on the (no longer clean) counter.
RN: "NAW! NAW! NAW! NOBUDDY OVA DERE! AH WANT MAH SEED FEED AN AH WANT IT NA-OW! GET MAH SEED FEED!"
PG: "I'm going to call someone right now to come assist you-,"
RN: "AH WANT MAH SEED FEED!"
Finally, my mother can stand it no more.
Mom: "She said she was gonna call someone to help you, you dumb bastard!"
RN: “AIN’T NOBUDDY OVA DERE!!”
PG: *runs to make a phone call and hide in the back*
The redneck just keeps pounding the counter and yelling that he wants his “seed feed”, and I’m looking at my mother, wanting very desperately to just leave before this lunatic pulls a shotgun out of his pants and starts redecorating. But she tells me “No, we’re going to stay and make sure he doesn’t do something insane until someone else gets here.” Great. A 50-year-old woman with one kidney and me vs. a possibly shotgun-wielding unrealized serial killer. My day is improving with leaps and bounds.
I’m not sure what PG said to whoever over the phone, but after a couple of minutes, a manager shows up, flanked by two cart pushers and what I assume to be a butcher. One of the cart pushers heads into the back to check on PG while the other three men confront Redneck.
Manager: “All right, sir, what seems to be the problem here?”
RN: “AH WANT MAH SEED FEED!! AH PAID FOR IT AND AH WANT IT!!”
Manager: *examines barrel* “Sir, this isn’t feed, this-,”
RN: “AH KNOW DAT, DUMBASS, IT’S A EMPTY BAHREL AND AH WANT MAH FEED!!”
Manager: “Sir, this is just the feeder, no food comes with it.”
RN: “NUH-UH!!” (Brilliant argument, that. I bet this one was in debate club at Ye Old El‘Mentary Skool.)
Manager: “I’m afraid so, sir…this barrel is $20, if you wanted one with full feed, it would probably be around $75 or so.” (Ah, so THAT’S what this is about. Idjit thought he found a terrific deal.)
RN: *pointing to label* “IT SAYS FEEDA RIGHT HEAH!!”
Manager: “Yes, sir. This is a FEEDER. It does not come with feed.”
At this point, the cart pusher and PG peek around the door to see what’s going on, and Redneck leaps at the chance to try again.
RN: *pointing to PG* “SHE SAID SHE’D GET YA’LL TO COME FILL IT FOR ME!!”
Before PG can even begin to explain, my mother jumps in again.
Mom: “No she didn’t, you liar!”
Me: *hanging head, face in hands, wishing to vanish through floor, wondering if this is mother’s way of getting back at me for the misbehaving I did when I was younger* “Jesus, Mama.”
Mom: “He’s a liar! She didn’t say any such thing! My daughter and I were right here the entire time!”
Me: “JESUS, Mama!” (Some days, you just don’t want to get involved, but oh well.)
Mom: “What?”
RN: “SHE DID TOO SAY IT!!”
Mom: “She didn’t and you know it, you freaking liar!”
RN: “AH AIN’T NO GODDAMN LIAH!!”
Mom: “You’re a liar and a cheapskate hog fucker!” (She kisses my father with this mouth??)
At that point, Redneck sets his sights on my mom, big no-no. I’m tired and I don’t want to be here, but when he started towards my mom, I stood, picked up the chair I had been sitting in, and got between him and her. At this point, the manager clearly can tell the situation is about to get far beyond his control and will end in bloodshed, police sirens, and front page coverage unless he steps in now.
Manager: *moving in front of redneck, butcher and cart boy 2 flanking perfectly* “All right, sir, I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to take your things and leave.”
RN: “YA’LL CAN’T DO THIS!! AH BOUGHT MY SEED FEED-!!”
Mom: “You didn’t buy it! You told that girl you put it in your cart and brought it right over here!”
Anyway watch Family Guy? Remember the episode where Lois learned martial arts and Peter took her to a bar to beat out all the New Yorkers? I’m feeling like that right about now. My mom keeps talking her big game while I’m the one standing there brandishing a cheap wooden chair and trying to remember whether charging opponents calls for a knee-lock takedown or a rolling arm scissor.
Mom: “Don’t let him take that stuff! It’s not his or he’d have a receipt!”
RN: *not producing a receipt* “AH BOUGHT IT!!”
Manager: “All right, look, get out of here right now, sir, before I have the police come.”
RN: “IT’S MINE!!”
Manager: “Unless you can show me a receipt, I’ll have to take the ladies’ word for it, sir.”
Mom: “He didn’t buy it!”
Redneck continues to protest loudly, screaming about suing and going to the press and calling his lawyer, so forth and so on, while the butcher and the two cart pushers start herding him out the back door so they don’t have to drag his manic ass through the entire store. PG comes out, visibly shaken, while the manager turns to address all three of us.
Manager: “Are you ladies all right?”
Mom: *reaches over, takes the finished application from where it fell on the floor, holds it out to the manager* “My daughter’s looking for a part-time job in the evenings.”
Somehow, I don’t think I’ll be getting a call back.
After all this, I decided it was time to go home. I was in a pretty foul mood after the encounter, so when some dumbass on the road cut me off, I gave him the Stone Cold Salute (sign language everyone knows, heh). To which my mother replied, “You really shouldn’t do that. You don’t know who has a gun these days.”
…I swear, if she hadn’t given birth to me, I’d kill her…
Today is a great day for the comedy! I'm glad everything turned out ok. And I think that they SHOULD give you a call back. And then ask if your mom wants a job!
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