So what exactly is the protocol for when you break something in a store? I am a champion breaker of things, but still, I don't always know what to do! Especially if I'm in the dollar store. If I'm in a high-class establishment, I immediately pick up the pieces that I can, and then seek out the store manager and offer to pay. Well, actually, when I'm in a high-class establishment, I take darn good care not to break anything so I don't have to do that.
But at the dollar store, well...it's different. I'm too busy resisting the urge to walk up to the counter and ask "How much is this? And this? What about this?" to be as careful as this trainwreck should. Which is how I ended up in yesterday's predicament.
For our class Mother's Day project, we made bath salts, but I needed something to put them in. I was cruising the local dollar store on Wednesday to find something that would work. I was looking for a glass bowl or vase or something, and found these little salt and pepper shakers, made of glass, for a dollar per set. Eureka! I put every last one into my little basket and come up with 19. Except I have 21 kids. So, since I was getting my hair fancified across the street from the other dollar store the next day, I'd just pick up a couple of extra there. Bravo plan.
By the time I got my hair done yesterday, I hadn't been home for about eleventy billion hours, and I was starving, and still had to run to the dollar store. Before I forgot about it, which is always a possibility. So, in I scurried, visually scanning as to where I think the glass salt and pepper shakers might be. As I scurried, I bumped into a display of glass figurines. Oh Lord.
Immediately I hear "CLEAN UP ON THE MIDDLE AISLE. BROKEN GLASS. BRING A BROOM." Wow. They work fast. Turns out the manager was watching the whole thing. When I assessed the damage, I realized that I'd only broken one figurine. I think it was a clown.
But what do I do? Go take a dollar to the manager? Pick up the pieces myself, which is what I want to do? Oh my. You'd think I'd know the answer to this. I bent down to try to figure out just how many creepy glass clowns I'd now be the proud owner of, and a nice hispanic man fussed at me not to touch the glass or I'd get it on my hands. Apparently I looked a smidge stupid as well.
Eventually, I just quietly slunk away and pretended nothing ever happened. There was another graceful moment when I had to get the only two shaker sets they had left on the bottom shelf in the way back in a skirt, but I'll spare you those details.