Cheetah Cheeto Momma and the computer that wouldn't turn on

We're changing things up today. The raw material for today's story of unacceptable customer stupidity, fashion tragedies, howler monkey mayhem and Wal-Martian managerial prowess comes from a reader and fellow Wal-Mart associate - Blue-Vested Canary - who sends dispatches from the frozen northlands of Canada. Many thanks.

As originally told to bbcamerican by Blue-Vested Canary. All flights of fancy, literary inventions and mistakes herein and forthwith are mine.
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My job thrills me. Seriously. Like how taking plunging your hand into a vat of boiling oil is “thrilling.” Me? I’d rather shove bamboo skewers laced with the toxins of a thousand blowfish under my fingernails than deal with the morons that waddle through the doors of the Wal-Mart.

My jobs today included running a regular register, trying to stop the rampant theft at the self-checkouts and covering breaks at the Service Desk – which is where all the fun began.

L’il Miss Fashion Tragedy Wal-Mart Barbie rolls up wearing a giraffe-print shirt paired with a cheetah print blazer. That’s too much print for a newspaper. Let alone the African savannah! Whole herds of bushmen would run in horror.

She’s got the Wal-Mart howler monkey special shopping cart – built with two child seats behind the buggy – and her version comes complete with two clinging howler monkeys. Now available at walmart.com and Wal-Mart stores nationwide!

Cheetah Cheeto Momma has a computer she wants to return, allegedly because it won’t turn on. Probably because your bratty monsters spilled a cup of juice, some cereal and a gallon of aquarium water on it.

She clunks the computer up on the desk and I ask for a receipt.

Cheetah Cheeto Momma looks right at me and bluntly says “I ain’t got none of my receipts for here.”

I look back, trying mightily not to make a comment on her furry fashion faux pas, and inform her that we’re not taking the computer back without a receipt.

She growls with a scream worthy of any predator. Maybe that’s how she landed a babydaddy? There’s a grunting vocalization of some sort and then “What kind of f****** place don’t take returns?” My guess? Any place you steal shop at on a regular basis.

Anywho. I ask if maybe she’s got the receipt at home or in the car or secreted in a hidden pocket on her handbag. (Thank God the handbag wasn’t in a zebra print or twenty-seven outraged Luo tribesmen would have jumped out and speared her to death right then and there.)


She said she'd go check. And she left.

WITHOUT HER FREAKING HOWLER MONKEYS.

This insane Cheetah Cheeto Momma just walked away from Customer Service for four minutes (which felt like forever) and left her children running around inside the House of Wal.

I should have called the police.

When she gets back, she’s waving a piece of paper that – MY STARS – resembles a receipt.

Turns out the receipts is from last December. Eleven months ago. This woman’s computer pre-dates the Britney Spears meltdown, resurrection and post-resurrection VMA meltdown.

I calmly explain (while trying not to be distracted by the cheetah spots) that Wal-Mart will not be taking the computer back. It was after the 15-day return period (well after) and the manufacturer would be able to assist her on repairing her machine.

That, of course, was unacceptable to Cheetah Cheeto Momma. She wants a manager (and some fashion sense).

Management orders me to take it back. Before I do, I open the box, inspect the computer and decide to plug it in – because she said it wouldn’t even turn on.

Whir lights powers on Lord love a duck, it powered on. Windows XP opened up and right there, on her desktop, staring back at me with their grubby little faces, were her two little demon spawn.

The terror in her eyes was magnificent.

I packed it back up and sent her on her way.

Thank you for our attempted scamming at the House of Wal. K thx bai.