Urrrrgh, I hate those creepy-ass things.
Yet another anecdote:
My first job after college was in the kids dept. of a store. One afternoon my coworker Betty and I were working, and a woman was wandering about. She had a daughter of around 10, whom she was constantly scolding and cranking at, and a baby carriage containing a baby hooked up to a heart monitor and oxygen tank. Betty and I both agree it’s very sad the poor little thing is in such bad health that it has to be hooked up to all that equipment (our manager had had her son 2 mos early and just keeping him alive for the first year had been hellish so we were very sympathetic.)
The woman was spending a lot of time browsing near the register, and the fact that the baby wasn’t moving and was obviously so sick was getting to us so we went to do “look busy” jobs until she was ready to check out. Finally she was ready, buying up a heap of baby clothes and nothing for the older girl.
Betty, who always had the tact of a frying pan to the skull, asks, “Whatsamatter with him?”
“He’s a doll.”
Both of us were rather :dubious:
but it was far from the weirdest thing we’d ever encountered (that honor belongs to the guy who was stealing the little boys ski gloves to whack off into them in the dressing room).
Betty just kept on going with a question to the 10 year-old: “Oh, you must have fun playing with him, right?”
The woman yelled, “HE’S **MY **BABY AND SHE CAN’T HAVE HIM!”
Betty and I: :eek::eek::eek::eek::eek::eek::eek:
So Betty silently rang her up as the customer grew increasingly hostile, and she finally left, bitching the poor 10 year-old out the whole way.
Speaking as a fellow doll-o-phobe, I’d have screamed loud enough to be heard in Colorado, thrown the thing into the wall, and never spoken to you again.
