Customer Service
Today is the day that we introduce you to yet another one of our fabulous new authors here at Mommybloggers. Crystal is the hilarious author behind the blog Boobs, Injuries and Dr. Pepper. We adore her and hope that you make her feel welcome.
Here is a little bit more about her so that you can get to know Crystal a bit better.
Crystal McKee woke up one day and had a teenaged boy, Devon, a little girl, Virginia and a baby girl, Harmony. She's still not sure where they came from, but if you know their parents, they need to come get them, because, DUDE. THEY EAT A LOT.
She's pretty sure the marriage ceremony to Chris was legal. Of course, someone popped a tranquilizer in her mouth, so she could be wrong.
She lives in the South and when she's confused or anxious, she writes.
She writes A LOT.
Customer Service by Crystal McKee
I'm not really sure how it happens, but there is a tractor beam around me that attracts lunatics. I'm not complaining, because it provides blog fodder, I just don't understand it.
Thursday, I went to Wal-Mart again. I just can't seem to get enough of incompetence, poor personal hygiene and kids ramming into the back of my ankles with runaway shopping carts.
In actuality, everyone in our house has been sick for the past 2 weeks. After we all exhausted our life-sustaining supply of twelve pounds of snot each, we realized we were down to package of crackers and something in the vegetable drawer that was probably never a vegetable.
When I found the kids cutting that up into quarters and trying to entice the dog to take the first bite, I knew I had to venture out.
As I was standing in the dairy aisle, blearily studying the ingredients in yogurt ("Aids Digestion!" it says. Which, translated in my world, means, "Keep Your Husband from Blowing Atomic Farts All Night! No More Hives For You!") and sniffling, I heard a man start bellowing behind me.
"Hellooooooo? Is anybody in there?"
At first, I thought for sure I was having an acid flashback. I wished for something other than Pink Floyd. Maybe some Bach. I sniffled again and decided to buy cheese and yogurt to decrease the odds of having my skin melted from my bones.
"Hellllllooooooo? HELLLLOOOO?"
Crap. I couldn't deny it. I turned to see a disheveled, elderly man with his head stuck in the milk cooler, hollering like a cow giving birth.
I said cow. Heh.
Anyway, I was only mildly entertained. Nothing really shocks me in Wal-Mart any more.
As he continued to bleat and demand attention, most of the shoppers stopped to watch. I snuck up close to get a better view and so I could hear everything. As he turned his head to and fro inside the cooler, peering into the darkness, I stealthily moved to the Hillshire Farms Christmas Display behind him and pretended to look it over. Because, you know, when it comes to whack-a-doo people just running hither and thither in a store like WM, you can never be too careful. I hope to go out with nobility, face-down in my soup, not having been beaten to death with a smoked sausage roll.
Finally, he got an answer. "Can I help you?" It was a disembodied voice from the darkness and it gave me the willies. I've always thought the milk cooler was creepy. They can see you. You can't see them. I don't think that's natural.
"Yes!" the man screamed. "Your milk is bad! Bad! Spoiled!"
I considered telling him to stop buying it everything it wanted and make it work for things, then thought better of it. Smoked sausage rolls hurt.
"Umm, okay, sir. Which milk?" the voice in the darkness asked.
The old man looked down, snatched a carton off the bottom shelf and attempted to shove it through the back of the cooler.
"This one! Organic soy something! Very wrong! Something very wrong with it!"
"Your kind of milk," I muttered.
He whipped his head around and stabbed me with his crazy eyes. "Heh? Whadju say?"
"I farted," I squeaked, backing away. "Too much Robitussin."