Your Mother Doesn’t Work Here


I used to work in an office that had a cafeteria/lunchroom. There was a bank of microwaves and assorted condiments, napkins, plastic utensils, straws, etc. This area was all too often a fucking disaster area, enough that the guy who ran the cafeteria finally put up a tactfully worded sign that read, simply:

YOUR MOTHER DOESN’T WORK HERE.   CLEAN UP YOUR OWN MESS.

I liked that sign, both for its simplicity and for its “Why do I even have to fucking tell you this?!” tone. Also, it had practically no impact whatsoever. You know why?

Because people are fucking slobs and careless douchetards that just expect that someone else–anyone else–is going to pick up after them.

And you know, it’s true. Often enough, that anyone else is me. And for you, Mr. and/or Mrs. Asswipe, I have this to say:

YOUR MOTHER REALLY DOESN’T        FUCKING WORK HERE.

If she did, you can bet she’d drag your lazy ass right back over to that mess you just walked away from and she’d make damned sure you cleaned it the fuck up because she didn’t raise you to act like this in public.

Unless, of course, she did raise you to act like this in public like you are doing with your own children. In which case I can only assume that you are a selfish, self-absorbed asstard and there is no hope for you or your spawn.

Case in point: Today I worked at my old store. The one that’s in a slightly more affluent area than the one I am in now. The one that caters to a lot of young people after school, people meeting for various business reasons and, of course, moms and their infant children getting out of the house for some Mom Needs Adult Conversation time.

You’d already left by the time I noticed the disaster you left in your wake, but it was pretty obvious what had happened. You came in with your girlfriend or your mom, got a decaf soy no foam latte for yourself and a mini-doughnut for your toddler. You all sat down near the window so the baby could be occupied by the passing cars and pedestrians while you completely ignored her in favor of some scintillating conversation about the latest episode of American Idol and did you hear about what Charlie Sheen is doing now? Oh my.

Meanwhile, little Jasmine, bored with the view and not at all interested in actually eating the doughnut, instead smashed it into bits and flung it around the table. And the floor surrounding the baby chair. But you didn’t notice. Or you didn’t fucking care.

And then you left.

Without lifting a finger to even attempt to see to the mess you made. And without so much as an “Excuse me, my baby kind of left a mess over there, sorry…”

Really? I mean, yes. It’s my job to clean up messes in the store. It’s part of what I get paid to do. But seriously? You can, in good conscience, just get up and walk away from a mess like that without batting an eye? As often as it happens, shit like that continues to just amaze me.

There are days I wish your mother did work here.

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3 Comments

Filed under *The Coffee Shop Days*, Retail Rant

3 responses to “Your Mother Doesn’t Work Here

  1. Oh, oh. I think I may have been guilty of this in the past. Not necessarily on purpose, but not making an attempt to clean up the crumbs either.

  2. Thanks, Carol. Hopefully you’ll pause next time. I know how easy it can be to think it’s okay because “they get paid to clean this stuff up” and in a way that’s true. But this wasn’t just crumbs left on a table, this was a food explosion. I don’t mind cleaning it up, but at least let us know about it rather than let us discover it later.

  3. Pingback: One Month Review | Think You Used Enough Dynamite There?

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