Friday's thing

Thanks, but um, what?

That was my thought this evening as I was mentally reviewing my day. Which, for crazy reasons has put me in a slightly mental state right now, but that has to do with shifting schedules, family challenges and a strange form or anxiety that I get in over cluttered (or overcrowded) places.

Today I purchased some 18-inch fluorescent light bulbs to fix a light. They were the wrong style, and though it is an 18-inch fixture, they were 1/4 inch short. Must be like millwork and wood, there's 1/4 that gets shaved off in the milling process. Maybe on the green chain.

I paid for these with fake money; easier for returns.

So, part of my day revolved around picking up four kids (7, 6, 4, and 2) from Bible school. Joy. I get to do a return in a mega-type store with four kids hanging on me.

It was supposed to be simple, drop those who could survive the playland, off in the activity area. Take those, whom I assume would be the eldest two, to do return and some shopping.

It was shortly after lunch time, and I approached the counter decorated with the Freddy Bear holding balloons or something. Grandma behind the counter. Well, she reminded of my Grandma, but with extra-special retail bite. "Oh, I'm sorry, dear;" she says, "I'm going on break." Maybe she remembers one of the crew that's with me, I dunno.

I plaster on my best shocked-yet-plastic smile and walk away.

To do the return.

Now the return was rather simple. Efficient. I exchanged jokes with the cashier. One of the kids impressed them with her diva flip-flops. That in itself is a great therapy / rehab statement that I even laughed.

The weird part was right at the end, you know, where they say it's all done and the amount is charged back to your card? Well, she didn't do that. She handed me cash. And 97 cents. In itself, not weird, but she says this:

"I figured I'd give you change, as I know that kids like change."

Um, I have FOUR kids here, whose combined ages (7, 6, 4, 2) are just above 1/2 my age and the average number of drinks a shuttle pilot has before take off.

They are clawing on me, making noise, and so she CHOOSES to give me change?

Next time: my return, my choice.

For the rest of the day I sounded like my high school physics teacher jingling along the way as I walk.

*sigh*