Discipline

Since I don’t like to subject Luc to the awkwardness of buying “female products”, I walked across the street to Shopper’s Drug Mart to do the deed myself. After grabbing what I needed, I wandered to the Hallmark aisle. As I was innocently browsing the Mother’s Day cards, a frail, white-haired employee (we’ll call her Fran) rounded the corner, took one look at me and shouted:

Fran: “Are you going to put that away somewhere?”

Me: “Pardon?”

Fran: “Well don’t STEP ON IT!”

Me: (bewildered, looking down to see a card on the floor) “I...I didn’t see...I didn’t actually drop that...I didn’t notice...”

Fran: (slowly moving closer), “I SAAAID, PUT IT AWAY SOMEWHERE!!!”

Me: “What? I...I didn’t even drop it...I didn’t.....isn’t...isn’t that.....your.....job?”

Fran: “Put. That. Away. Don't just LEAVE IT SITTING THERE!”

I stood there stunned, feeling like I was being reprimanded. She was my great-grandmother and I was the defiant child. I wanted to talk back to this sour old bitty, but some instinct told me that I would surely be swallowed up and sent straight to hell if I talked back to a woman old enough to say things to Jesus like, “I remember you when you were thiiiiis big.” As I sheepishly reached for the card, she shook her head at me in disbelief and returned to the fiery dungeon beneath Shopper’s Drug Mart from whence she came.