My background is hefty in art and my mom is like the original Martha Stewart (minus the stick up her ass), so it’s no surprise that the monkeys and I are a crafty bunch. Odds are if you’re reading this, you are from the US so you are aware of Michaels. If you’re not- it’s a massive craft store chain. Not my first choice for art supplies, but it’s the crafty go to store. The one closest to us hates us. But, we torture them anyway because I’m too stubborn to drive 20 min out of my way to go to another one. So, they can suck it.

Why would they hate lil ole us? Here is how our love affair began…

Halloween is one of our favorite holidays so we ventured there to get stuff to make all kinds of spooky fun. We get there and there is but one cart left. Of course it was the squeaky one. Like nails down a chalk board squeaky. But, I have a 2 year old and a barely 4 year old, so yeah, the cart was necessary. We whipped through the store as quickly as possibly giggling at how horrible our cart sounded while other customers and the staff glared at us. We get to the front by the check out lines and there’s a row of $1.00 crap. The girls were so good, so I told them they could pick something out. I’m leaning down looking at something eldest monkey picked out and, out of the corner of my eye, I see someone grab lilest monkey and start lifting. Instant rabid protective mom kicks in. I snap up, grab the lady’s arm and glare at her saying “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Now at this point I realize she’s an employee and like 50 something years old. I don’t bloody care if she’s a young Mother Theresa, she’s touching MY CHILD. She has the nerve to then glare at me and say “I’m switching her to this cart, it doesn’t squeak.” I look at her, smile really pretty hoping to fool the monkeys into not realizing what was about to come out of my mouth and say “If you don’t let go of my daughter, I WILL rip your arm off and beat you to death with it. The check out is right there. You don’t just start plucking someone’s child out of a cart.” *bat eyelashes* Her brilliant reply: “Your cart is annoying.” My retort: “It’s YOUR cart and I have no problem getting REALLY ugly with you right now. So, for the last time, let go of my child or I swear the police will need to get involved. While you’re at it, you may want to tone your attitude down just a notch because I’m being incredibly polite right now and that’s fading…fast.” I won. Shocked? She let go and walked away calling me names your standard lil 50 year old shouldn’t be muttering. I think she hung a picture of us up in the employee lounge with a not so nice warning on it.

Round 2.

So, for lilest Monkey’s 3rd birthday, she wanted a Tinkerbell cake. If that’s what she wanted, that’s what she was getting. I gave Michaels a call and they had a Tink cake pan. And “a” meant just one left. I asked them if they’d pull it and hold it at the customer service counter for us for like an hour so we could come up and check it out. I had a list of things to get so we got there and started whipping through with our thankfully non-squeaky cart. So far, so good. I can’t seem to find the sewing section and there’s an employee just hanging out in floral looking bored, so I ask her… “Excuse me, do you sell safety pins?” Miss Attitudinal: “Ah..yeah. Of course.” Here we go. “Great, would you be so kind as to tell me where I might find them?” She tells me some isle number and off we go. Isle number doesn’t exist. There is a mini tribe of older employees hanging out in the back by where the isle should be coffee clutching, so I ask them using my nice, sweet little polite excuse me voice. The conversation pauses as they look at me for like 30 seconds and then back to bipping the go. My right eye is now twitching. Screw the safety pins.

I noticed earlier they had some yarn on sale super cheap, so I figure I’ll let the girls pick some out for me to knit them scarves for winter. Problem- we have to break through my group of new best friends to get down the yarn isle. Deep breath. Smiley happy face and sweet excuse me voice. They part like the glaring red sea and let us through. We turn the corner and there’s two more of them blocking the isle. Grrrr… To make it extra ribbed for my pleasure, there were boxes of stock scattered on the floor down the isle. Not only do I have to get crab and crabbier to move, I then need to deftly maneuver the cart around the stock. Sweet smile. Polite excuse me. Bob and weave baby. Monkeys pick yarn and up to customer service counter we go. Another deep breath. Home stretch and I have not done too badly.

We stood at the empty customer service counter smiling for 12 minutes while Miss Attitudinal and two other lovely employees stare at us. Finally, a manager comes over and says “Can I help you?” You know I very much wanted to inform her nah, we just dig hanging out under the customer service sign for no reason. But, I refrained. She pulls out the cake pan and it’s just Tink’s head. I ask lil one if she likes it. I can’t blame her at all for saying “Mommy, it’s just her head. No wings. Everyone has a head, only fairies have wings.” Off to the cake isle we went. They had a package of really cute little Tink figurines for the tops of cupcakes. Wee one loved them, I could totally work with them, off to the check out we go.

There was very little surprise that all of a sudden there was a line out of nowhere. In it we patiently wait. Three people get checked out and we are about to be next. Another employee comes plodding up and opens her register uttering the words I now you’ve all heard before “I can take the next customer in line.” The lady behind me whips over there like Flash freakin’ Gordon. At this point, I don’t have the energy so I look at the employee to see if she’s going to do the right thing and correct the woman. Nope. Eldest monkey, bless her heart, says very politely “Excuse me ma’am, but she said the next in line and that is us.” *beaming little glow* The woman scowls at her and proceeds. I’m fighting down the rabid protective mom thing now. Eldest then looks at the cashier “Excuse me Miss Michaels Lady, but you said next. That means us, not her.” I’m thinkin’ “You go lil one.” The cashier then scowls at my daughter. The customer flashes her a dirty look. Now I’m counting to 10 in like all 5 languages I know. I look at my precious little confused peanut and say “Some people are just rude baby, it’s almost our turn.” And then all hell breaks loose…..

The chick looks at the cashier and says “I guess bitch doesn’t fall far from the tree.” OH NO THE FUCK YOU DIDN’T JUST CALL MY LIL GIRL A BITCH!!! Before I can even go off, lil monkey stands up in the cart, points her tiny lil finger at the evil customer and screams “NO ONE CALLS MY MAMA AND SISTER A BITCH!!! NO ONE!!!!” She was PISSED. Shaking angry red in the face pissed. I think the whole store was staring and holding their breath at the same time bracing for my response. I just busted out laughing. It was now our turn. The woman who just got schooled by both monkeys needed a price check. So, we were actually done before her. Hello evil customer from hell, meet Karma, she is a lovely little thing. And yes, I absolutely made sure we all smiled, waved and said goodbye to the lady who was in such a hurry. In the car I let them know they couldn’t say the word bitch, but honestly, lil one was still fuming and muttering it under her breath the whole way home.

Three days later it was her birthday. She woke up, rubbed her eyes, got smothered with birthday smoochies and the first words out of her mouth to me were “Mommy, I’m 3. Now can I say bitch?” >;-)


With these two visits, a strong mutual dislike has been established. Like I said though, I’m not going out of my way, we can handle them. They’re gonna have to suck it up. I’ve been to Michaels all over the area and other states and have never encountered the treatment we consistently receive at this one. These are not the standard 18 year old snotty young sales people one pictures when horror stories of the disappearance of anything resembling customer service start being told. These are adult women that should know better. They should damn well remember a time when even fake smiles, a resemblance of enthusiasm for a job and politeness were expected. If you’re surly because you’ve woken up at 50ish and realized your life career has been a Michaels salesperson and are bitter about it- it’s not my fault. Do something about it. So, while I commend you Michaels for your Work Program for Bitter Old Hags, I respectfully request you change it to another location. Give those of us in the area a little bit of a breather and the hags fresh meat to be disgruntled at.