By Maude Perkins
Even amidst all my misanthropic haranguing and violent meditation, I am constantly grateful for the positive self-reflection that my elite customers inspire. As I’ve said before, my own sanity is certainly more apparent when up against the specially-minded few who practically hyperventilate when the espresso bar is temporarily out of order. When I encounter these fragile characters, I am just thankful to have real life problems.
Also, when observing my store’s rich, pancake-assed customer base, I feel further fortunate that I don’t have tons of money distorting my mind into thinking that half the shit they think matters, matters. The money would be welcome of course, just not the distortion. Each and every day, I witness great moments in yuppie prioritizing. And if yuppies can’t teach us all a thing about values, you may as well tell me that Santa Claus doesn’t exist and take away Christmas and all the presents too, you Grinch bastard.
Take, for example, the lessons in accepting responsibility that I learn from observing the mom and boogery kid rush that happens sporadically throughout the weekdays. It is during these rushes that a yuppie mother truly shines, demonstrating what great work she has done with her kids. During these mom conventions, it is evident what matters most in their lives: town gossip, reality television gossip, Oprah gossip, skim lattes, shopping gossip, hair/nail gossip, and, oh yeah, their children.
Perhaps the moms gather at my store when the maid (sorry, au pair) has the day off or something, because I swear these women show up solely to see how much damage their kids can cause in one visit, while they assiduously pretend not to notice that they have children in the first place.
I can almost hear their yuppie-mom networking now: “Ciao Sharon! I gave Pilar the day off, and Lord knows I hate to clean, especially after my nails just got done this morning . . . Yes, this morning . . . I know it’s only 11 . . . Well, I got up early to make the 10 o’clock appointment . . . Hey, I gotta do what I gotta do, you know. Say, let’s take the kids to the coffee shop! That way we can be as messy and obnoxious as possible and we don’t have to worry about picking up after ourselves . . . I know, that’s what I thought too – almost like Pilar was there!” Cackle.
Or maybe in their tragically boring lives, they’ve created a sick game in which they buy a bunch of pastries and make sure the kids have unguarded access to every last crumb; then they sit back and see who can craft the most creative mess out of what they are given (extra style points for messes that simultaneously incorporate eatables and drinkables).
It certainly doesn’t help that my manager encourages this behavior by supplying crayons and chalk and Legos, among countless other multi-pieced, easily-projected toys, all crammed into one corner of the store, affectionately known as the Kids’ Corner (as in, “Look at what those assholes did to the goddamn Kids’ Corner,” and “I want to blow up the mother-fucking Kids’ Corner!”). The Kids Corner comes complete with a neon plastic dining set for the brats that is almost always covered in interpretive crayon scribbles (“artwork,” if you ask the moms; their children are “creative”). I realize, by the way, that some of you may think it would be cute and somehow appropriate to spell “Corner” with a “K.” That is specifically why I do not. Unless boogers and hot cocoa spills and straw wrappers and Skittles embedded into the tile, and other people’s kids are in some way cute.
And once they are done with our free day care service, do you suppose that any one of these worthless, gold-bricking mothers could bend over and pick up a fucking Lego that their crusty little mistakes have thrown around the floor? Or that even one mom could return some toys to the bins after they’ve personally relocated the Kids’ Corner to an entirely separate region of the store?
No. Because that would be “considerate.” And that’s not in the Yuppie Mom handbook.
Next week: The right to refill at will.
*
Maude Perkins is The Beachwood Reporter‘s pseudononymous service industry affairs editor currently serving time as a store supervisor for a large, publicly-held corporate coffee chain. Catch up with the rest of her heartwarming stories here.
Posted on December 7, 2006