The Batty Broad comes from a long line of batty women. Being batty isn’t the same as being crazy (although there is plenty of the crazy gene floating around our pool), it’s more about living a life that appears to be part of a long running slapstick comedy. I know, I know, that sounds like barrel full of monkeys (which begs the question exactly how fun is a barrel full of monkeys – is it just me or does a barrel full of monkeys sound more like the beginning of a horror movie?) but the reality is a batty life is full of embarrassing moments, towering inferno type disasters and a whole lotta pain. It is, however, hilarious. So us batty broad’s have that going for us.
The Batty Broad’s mom is not batty really. I mean she is actually a classy broad, more like a dame. But she has, on occasion, encountered a batty situation or two (okay I’m lying, it’s more than two). One such occurrence happened while she was working at Payless Drug Store many moons ago. For those of you who have never heard of PayLess Drug Store, it was a store akin to a Rite-Aid (which purchased PayLess) or a CVS. You know a place to run in and get your various sundry items that are of a health or hygienic nature. My Mom, who I will refer to as CB (Classy Broad) happened to be working as a cashier on this particular day which has gone down in the annals of our batty family story.
Before every item in every store had a bar code, there was just a simple little sticky tag with the price. These sticky tags were placed (or often not placed) by stock clerks who were usually young men working for minimum wage. In the Batty Broad’s experience minimum wage equals minimum effort. Due to this clearly well-thought out and executed plan (pause so that we can all laugh), price tags were left off of products more often than they were actually attached. Shocking, I KNOW. When the customer, who assumed a price would actually be on their item, reached the checkout they were often forced to wait while the cashier got on the intercom to ask for a price check on the item so that it could be rung up properly on the cash register. This would then prompt the same stock clerk who didn’t put the tag on in the first place to have to run out to the floor, find the item and get on the intercom to announce the proper pricing. I’m fairly certain that the aforementioned barrel full of monkeys could have come up with a better system.
One busy Saturday, while CB was working at the front of the store she was stopped in the middle of ringing up a customer due to a missing price tag. Following the protocol for such issues, she got on the intercom and called out for a price check.
CB: Price check
Stock Boy: Okay, price check (letting her know that he was ready to run out and find the item and provide the proper pricing)
CB: Price check on Tampax
Stock Boy runs out to the floor to look for the item.
Stock Boy does not hear CB properly and instead of seeking the feminine hygiene aisle has headed over to the hardware aisle instead.
Meanwhile, CB’s line is backing up and the customer (who was not thrilled to have the whole store know that she was buying Tampax) is getting irritated
CB on intercom: Can I get a price check on Tampax?
Stock Boy (who has mistaken Tampax for Thumb Tacks) is standing in the hardware aisle completely stumped. After hearing CB call for the price check again, he grabs some thumb tacks and runs over to the intercom.
Stock Boy: On that price check – is that the kind that you push in with your thumb or the kind your nail in with a hammer?
At this point, there is almost dead silence in the store which is then followed by HYSTERIA. Everyone, and I mean everyone, in the store with the exception of the customer and the stock boy are practically rolling on the floor laughing. CB, who is a very classy broad, is laughing and crying at the same time. The customer who had clearly had her fill of humiliation for one day, walked out of the store.
CB decided that rather than continue to try to help the stock boy understand that Tampax are not pushed in with either a thumb or a hammer, headed back to the stock room to provide some much needed guidance. There she found him standing at the intercom, both types of thumb tacks in hand, being pummeled with Tampax boxes by the other stock boys. It was like the shower scene from the movie Carrie, except Carrie was a dude. CB figured that he probably understood his mistake at that point and headed back to the register.
I’m not sure if the poor stock boy ever lived down that moment or if he still shudders when he hears the word Tampax but I bet that the customer who ended up feeling like the punchline of a joke, always checked for a price tag on her feminine products after that day.
The moral of the story is that being around the Batty Broad or kin of the Batty Broad could lead to two things. Either you will bear witness to the wackiness that revolves around me like the rings of the planet Saturn or you will be sucked into the gravitational pull and be forced to endure said wackiness first hand. Either way, it’s way more fun than a barrel full of monkeys.
You have been warned.
The Batty Broad