wogster in the making
I really should tell CK this. It'd make her lol I think.
I was at work (for once) yesterday and some troublesome lady comes in 20 minutes before closing (as troublesome people are wont to do). She was the epitomy of wog-a-mama with her two little wog kiddies who were running amok and creating havoc everywhere. There was a little boy who was 3 and a little girl who was 1. The boy kept wandering around behind the counter and despite Wogamama's "best efforts" to coax him out, would not leave. He kept pointing to things and asking me "what is that?". In fact, our conversation went a bit like this:
Wog.Jr: What's that??
Me: It's a bra
Wog.Jr: *Eyes goggle*
Bystanding.AZN.Dude: Ahhh he's learning early!
Me: *Sigh*
Wog.Jr: What's that??
Me: It's a stapler
Wog.Jr: Can you make tattoos with it??
Me: ... no
Tattoos?! Gee they really do learn early don't they? At this point, I think I must mention that this little Junior Wog was dressed in a kids version of a muscle tank with a small gold chain and his hair puffed up in one of those faux mohawks. Like... oh my goodness!
*Bites fingernails and tries not to let the stereotypes run too wild*
Anyhow, Wogamama goes in to the change room to try on some things and tries to bring the kids with her. On the way, they manage to knock every reachable bra off the rack and we end up with a big tangled mess on the floor. Since someone else is helping her with her stuff, I go off and try to fix the stuff on the floor. Meanwhile, I can hear a whole lot of noise (doors banging, kids screaming, mother yelling). Since we are trying to close up, I go in to distract the kids so as to make it easier for my colleague to help Wogamama and thus, help us close up on time.
I round the kids up at the rail we use for re-hanging the stock that's been tried on. The whole bottom row has a bunch of empty hangers which I figure is much better to make a mess with than bras coz I can just chuck them all in the bin at the end. At first I try some educational stuff... What colour is that? How many are there?... but they soon get bored and start chucking the hangers around.
I let them play around for a while and leave them to help their Mama who, by now, is thankfully finished. Leaving Wogamama, I head back to the rail and start to clean up the mess. I kind of squat with my knees level but close to the ground so I could reach the hangers. Then suddenly, Wog.Jr runs over and is like "She's pretty! Can she be my mummy?" and plonks himself in my lap. I am now crouching with my knees around 10cm off the floor, with a 3 yr old Wog.Jr perched right on top of them...
I had NO IDEA what to do. I am literally like WTF?!
I try to gently push him off but my balance is awkwardly bordering on non-existant so it's practically impossible, especially coz he's wriggling around like a maniac! Meanwhile, he's having a conversation with his mother...
Wogamama: Do you want her to be your mummy?
Wog.Jr: Yes. She's pretty.
Wogamama: She IS pretty. Do you want her to be your mummy??
Wog.Jr: Yesssss
Wogamama: Oh good I can get rid of you.
Me: D=
I found this experience to be... somewhat strange.
I was at work (for once) yesterday and some troublesome lady comes in 20 minutes before closing (as troublesome people are wont to do). She was the epitomy of wog-a-mama with her two little wog kiddies who were running amok and creating havoc everywhere. There was a little boy who was 3 and a little girl who was 1. The boy kept wandering around behind the counter and despite Wogamama's "best efforts" to coax him out, would not leave. He kept pointing to things and asking me "what is that?". In fact, our conversation went a bit like this:
Wog.Jr: What's that??
Me: It's a bra
Wog.Jr: *Eyes goggle*
Bystanding.AZN.Dude: Ahhh he's learning early!
Me: *Sigh*
Wog.Jr: What's that??
Me: It's a stapler
Wog.Jr: Can you make tattoos with it??
Me: ... no
Tattoos?! Gee they really do learn early don't they? At this point, I think I must mention that this little Junior Wog was dressed in a kids version of a muscle tank with a small gold chain and his hair puffed up in one of those faux mohawks. Like... oh my goodness!
*Bites fingernails and tries not to let the stereotypes run too wild*
Anyhow, Wogamama goes in to the change room to try on some things and tries to bring the kids with her. On the way, they manage to knock every reachable bra off the rack and we end up with a big tangled mess on the floor. Since someone else is helping her with her stuff, I go off and try to fix the stuff on the floor. Meanwhile, I can hear a whole lot of noise (doors banging, kids screaming, mother yelling). Since we are trying to close up, I go in to distract the kids so as to make it easier for my colleague to help Wogamama and thus, help us close up on time.
I round the kids up at the rail we use for re-hanging the stock that's been tried on. The whole bottom row has a bunch of empty hangers which I figure is much better to make a mess with than bras coz I can just chuck them all in the bin at the end. At first I try some educational stuff... What colour is that? How many are there?... but they soon get bored and start chucking the hangers around.
I let them play around for a while and leave them to help their Mama who, by now, is thankfully finished. Leaving Wogamama, I head back to the rail and start to clean up the mess. I kind of squat with my knees level but close to the ground so I could reach the hangers. Then suddenly, Wog.Jr runs over and is like "She's pretty! Can she be my mummy?" and plonks himself in my lap. I am now crouching with my knees around 10cm off the floor, with a 3 yr old Wog.Jr perched right on top of them...
I had NO IDEA what to do. I am literally like WTF?!
I try to gently push him off but my balance is awkwardly bordering on non-existant so it's practically impossible, especially coz he's wriggling around like a maniac! Meanwhile, he's having a conversation with his mother...
Wogamama: Do you want her to be your mummy?
Wog.Jr: Yes. She's pretty.
Wogamama: She IS pretty. Do you want her to be your mummy??
Wog.Jr: Yesssss
Wogamama: Oh good I can get rid of you.
Me: D=
I found this experience to be... somewhat strange.