Poopy Pants

Alright, here it is folks. Some consider this to be the Queen Mother of all Scott stories. I hope you enjoy hearing it as much as Brittney and I were a part of it. It all happened when my wife asked me to go to Home Depot to purchase some blinds. I quickly said, “Yes dear,” and asked my daughter, Brittney, to ride along. I bribed her with the promise of ice cream. Off to Home Depot we went.

With Brittney in tow I picked up the blinds and made my way to the front to pay. I was third in line behind an older woman and a very elderly couple. We were in the express lane. The lady in front of me was being very rude to the elderly couple. She was commenting on how much of a hurry she was in and pointing out that this couple had broken the express lane limit by one item. It was certainly the worst thing ever to happen in the history of the universe.

Many years ago I worked as a store detective in a large department store chain in Minneapolis called Donaldson’s. I was always bothered by how many rude customers there were and I vowed to “give it back to them” once I was a civilian. I’ve actually done this for years much to the embarrassment of my daughters. This day would be no different.

“Chill out lady,” I said. She then turned and started swearing at me with my young daughter at my side. “Stay out of this,” she shouted. “It none of your bleepin’ business.” I just smiled at the checkout clerk. She could tell I was going to make her day.

The elderly couple left and now it was the mean lady’s turn. She placed two cans of paint on the checkout stand and asked, “Can you open these for me. I want to check on the color.” The clerk said, “Sorry ma’am. I can’t. You need to do that in the paint department. This is the express lane.” That’s when the fireworks began. Follow the dialogue.

Mean lady- “What the bleep do you mean? I was just at the bleepin’ paint department and there was no one there.

Scott- “I’m sorry lady but you’re lying because I was just there and there were 3 clerks there with nothing to do.”

Mean lady- “You stay the bleep out of my bleepin’ business. Who the bleep are you calling me a liar?”

Scott- “I was just there. And why are you inspecting paint in the express checkout line when you just harassed that elderly couple for having one extra item?”

Mean lady- “Shut the bleep up and mind your own bleep bleep business”

Scott- “Well lady, this is my business because now I’m stuck behind you wanting to check on paint colors in the express lane.”

Mean lady- “Well you can just shut the bleep up.”

It was at this point that Home Depot employees started gathering around and other customers were beginning to pay attention to the mean lady who was now yelling everything like we were all deaf or something. I got the feeling that the Home Depot employees were a little excited to see someone sticking up for them for a change.

The nice clerk then offered to give the lady a note saying that if she did not like the paint she could return it. This whole time poor Brittney is cowering with embarrassment at her father’s conversation with the sailor mouth lady. But I wasn’t done. I made one more comment about how she was cheating the system and that I wondered if this was how she lived her life. It was something like that. I was not going to let her get away without one long look at her ugly self in the mirror. People like that drive me nuts. She swore at me again and paid for paint and was out the door. Good riddance.

Now it was my turn to pay. As I forked over my hard-earned honest cash the Home Depot clerk thanked me. I told her why I did it and she again expressed her appreciation for sticking it to her. It was rather invigorating. Again, Brittney states she wished she could have disappeared.

So now I have this 8-foot long box with blinds in it on my shoulder and we’re headed out the door with another story to tell. Brittney and I giggled about what happened and how horrible it must be to live your life like that mean lady. We’re about 30 feet from the car when I hear a familiar voice shout out, “Bleep you mister!” It was her. And now she was coming straight for us. I switched the big box to my other shoulder to offer some kind of protection. But she kept coming straight at me pointing her crooked finger, “Bleep you mister! Bleep you!” She kept repeating it.” Now a small crowd was turning toward the ruckus. She got within 5 feet of me and something in my brain took over my voice. I shouted the first thing that came to mind. “YOU POOPY PANTS!” She stopped dead in her tracks, absolutely bewildered and disarmed. Then the people in the parking lot started to laugh. I had stunned her so badly she just walked away. Then we heard an older gentleman with his son say, “Did that man just call her a poopy pants?” For the sake of my daughter I thought it best that we just leave the premises.

Brittney then took a vow to never go anywhere with me, ever. I bought her an ice cream for being such a trooper. She made me tell Sheri the story when we got home. I have, since then, repeated it many, many times. I’ve even been accused of making it all up. But thankfully Brittney was there. She has since sought counseling trying to erase the memory of that day. But something tells me when she’s dealing with a nasty customer at Starbucks, she mutters, “You poopy pants,” as they walk out the door. She’s had good training.