Disruptive

A few days ago Dingo Girl and I were at our local drug store stocking up on hair gel and conditioner.  It’s going to be a humid summer and I want to get a jump on the frizzies.  If I can find something to tame these Medusa-like curls before the locker room dampness of June descends upon the city like a sweaty armpit, I’ll be happy.  During the winter months, I usually add a touch of honey to my leave-in conditioner.  Not only does it make my hair curlier and more defined, but it also smells scrumptious.  For obvious reasons, I forgo this at-home remedy during the summer.  The last thing I need is a swarm of bees descending upon my head like vampires at a blood bank.  It’s going to be difficult enough battling the mosquitoes.

Dingo Girl loves going into this drug store.  Actually, she loves going into any store.  Fortunately, New York is very dog friendly.  Dingo Girl knows exactly which stores have dog treats by the door or behind the counter.  We’ve been going to this drug store ever since she was a puppy. The cashiers fawn all over her and make sure she gets the peanut butter flavored treats.  On this particular day, a new crop of cashiers was at the front counter.  They were taking their sweet ol’ time ringing up the customers because it would have been expecting too much for them to continue their conversation about baby-daddies and broke down ho’s trying to steal their men during their lunch break.  I had a basket of hair products in one arm — I added a few bags of jellybeans and a pint of ice cream because gelatin and calcium makes your hair strong.  Shut up! They do too!  In my other hand I had Cooking Light and Shape.

Dingo Girl was sitting obediently at my feet. When the line didn’t budge for a good ten minutes, she gave an impatient sigh and laid down.  As I was flipping through one of the magazines trying to figure out if the “Cooking Without Butter” article was some sort of joke, there was a loud crash, crying, and screaming coming from one of the aisles.  Everyone turned.  We were greeted by the sight of a woman casually perusing Cover Girl’s new Spring lip glosses as her two children dismantled the store.  One imp of Satan child, around four years old, was pelting her sister with what looked like the entire collection of Opi nail polish with the accuracy and speed of a Gatling gun.  Bottles smashed into the glass display holding the knock-off perfumes.  Bruises were already rising on the other demon’s child’s head and she was crying great gobs of snot as she tried to duck the multi-colored missiles.  That didn’t stop her, however, from undoing her diaper and finger-painting a freestanding Neutragena display and floor with her feces.  Have I mentioned that all this was occurring as their mother was oohing and aahing over Tickled Pink and Merry Berry?  She opened each gloss, applied it to her lips, checked herself in a mirror borrowed from another aisle, wrinkled her nose in disgust, and then put the lip gloss back on the shelf.  Yes, back on the shelf.  This is why you don’t buy make-up that has been opened.

One of the cashiers finally decided that her co-worker was not going to be able to diagnose her burning, oozing va-jay-jay infection from just a verbal description and, for lack of something better to do, decided to actually do her job.  As we watched the disaster that was still continuing in the store (throwing Grecian Formula and feces finger-painting the hair care aisle), Monistat Cashier called out, “Excuse me!” as she came from behind the counter.  “Thank god!” I thought.  Not only was the yelling giving me a headache, but Fecal Frida was getting closer to the check-out line and the stench of toddler poo was curdling my Ben & Jerry’s.  I couldn’t take my eyes off the train wreck in the aisles.  “Excuse me!” yelled Monistat who could barely be heard above the caca cacophony ringing throughout the store.  Just then, she appeared at my elbow.  “Excuse me, m’am, no dogs allowed in the store.” Dingo Girl, who was still lying on the ground, sat up expecting a treat from Monistat.  In this store, the approach of a red shirt usually means a tasty treat is about to come her way.  I was shocked but managed to maintain my eloquence and charm.  “No dogs? Since when?” Now, I realize that this may seem argumentative and when you are yelling to be heard over Annie Oakley and Fecal Frida, it can seem downright obnoxious.  But I really didn’t mean it to come out that way.  Okay, maybe a little bit.  Monistat didn’t answer my question, she just pointed at Dingo Girl who was batting her brown eyes, waiting expectantly for a treat and said, “No dogs.  They’re disruptive.” At this point, Annie Oakley was banging her head against the deodorants and Fecal Frida was stomping on boxes of toothpaste.  “Okay,” I said as I handed her my basket of goodies and gave a head-nod to the mayhem.  “Have fun cleaning that up.” Because I’m real mature.

So now Dingo Girl and I go to a different drug store.  She gets her treats from the cashiers and I make sure to get all of my products from the very top shelves.

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