Saleswoman Kicked Me and My 7-Year-Old Daughter Out of a Kids’ Store – That Moment Changed Our Lives Forever
The worst moment of my life, in my opinion, was when a nasty salesperson made fun of me and my seven-year-old daughter in front of a whole store. I had no idea that this traumatic experience would pave the way for the most amazing opportunity we would ever have and fundamentally alter the course of our destiny.
I’m Amanda, a 37-year-old single mother who resides in a women’s shelter with my daughter Jenny, who is seven years old. Everything we owned was destroyed in the fire that destroyed our house last year.
There are still memories of smoke that seem to be etched into the walls of my brain. I still occasionally dream about flames and wake up grabbing for things that are no longer there.
The worst thing? My husband was to blame. Because insurance deemed his sloppy electrical work in the garage to be negligence, they refused to pay him a dime. My husband was unambiguous about his decision while I was still reeling from the shock of losing our house.
One morning, with his luggage already packed, he informed me, “I can’t handle starting over,” “This is too much for me.”
He abandoned Jenny and me without warning. There is no forwarding address. No child support. Nothing. It was like watching the final remnant of our former existence disintegrate into dust when he drove away that day.
He had persuaded me to leave my marketing position when Jenny was born prior to the fire.
As he had promised, “I’ll take care of everything,” “You just focus on being a mom.”
I had total faith in him. I see now how stupid that was.
I had to get a job right away when he left. I was only able to work as a grocery store cashier. Every time the scanner beeps, I am reminded of what I lost and the life I believed to be safe.
Jenny’s essential school supplies, meals, and the rent for our storage unit were all barely covered by the salary. Every dime I made was used to pay for her necessities, such as stationery, lunch money, and clothes.
What about me? When I can afford to shop at all, I go to secondhand stores. It’s been more than a year since I last bought makeup. Six months ago, I tried a do-it-yourself haircut with kitchen scissors, which ended badly. Sometimes I don’t even recognize myself when I look in the mirror. I see a stranger with too many obligations and weary eyes.
Everything used to be paid for by my spouse, but now I’m discovering the hard way how costly even necessities can be.
What about child support? Keep me from laughing. We’ve never received a cent from him.
But what keeps me going, do you know? Jenny. My entire universe revolves on that young girl. We eat peanut butter sandwiches for dinner more times than I’d like to admit, but she never gripes about our small shelter room. She merely grinned and told me about her school day.
I therefore came to a conclusion when the time for returning to school came. After gathering all the extra cash I could, I made the decision to take Jenny shopping.
She was worthy of at least one new dress, something unique that she could don on her first day of classes.
Jenny’s eyes glowed as soon as we entered the mall’s cheery, colorful children’s apparel store.
“Oh, Mommy! “Observe all the lovely hues!” she said.
It was a lovely store. On small hooks, rows of lovely garments hung flawlessly. The racks were loaded with glittering bags. Everything appeared flawless and pricey.
I reached for a soft pink cardigan that was hanging nearby to see how big it was. Something Jenny would adore, it seemed.
Then this salesperson showed up.
She took her time examining me, focusing on my old pants, my ill-cut hair, and my cheap sneakers. She twisted her lip in blatant distaste. It was the kind of gaze that tells you you don’t belong and makes you want to hide behind the floorboards.
“If you can’t afford a decent haircut,” she shouted, “you definitely can’t afford anything in this place.”
I froze. My heart began to race.
The woman wasn’t done, though. She lowered her voice slightly and smirked, giving the impression that she was being discreet, but not enough to conceal what she was saying from other patrons.
“Unless you’re here to clean our floors, I honestly don’t see why you’re in here at all.” “Sweetheartie, don’t get too attached to anything you see here,” she said, casting a downward glance at my darling Jenny. Without a doubt, your mother cannot afford to purchase it.
I was deeply offended by what she said. Tears began to well up in my eyes, burning my throat. I wanted to defend myself and say something in response, but I was too surprised to do so.
She wasn’t finished making fun of us yet.
The salesperson raised her voice high enough for every vile phrase to be heard across the store, folding her arms across her chest.
“Please don’t touch any more of our merchandise,” she commanded. “You’ll get it dirty with your hands, and then real customers won’t want to buy it.”
In a desperate attempt to keep myself together, I swiftly turned away. Whether I liked it or not, the tears were pouring. I could feel other customers watching at us, and my face was burning with embarrassment.
I just wanted to be gone.
However, my tiny Jenny then gave my sleeve a gentle tug. Her voice sounded calm and steady as I gazed down at her.
Whispering, “Mommy, don’t cry,” “Alright, let’s simply visit another store. That woman is simply being cruel.
Unable to trust my voice, I nodded. I grasped her little hand in mine and hurried as quickly as I could to the exit. All I had to do was get us out of there before I lost it in front of everyone.
A voice yelled out from behind us just as we were about to enter the door.
“Miss! Just a moment, please!”
I briefly believed it to be the salesperson once more, about to pull a knife.
I instantly tensed up. I didn’t want anyone in this store to speak to me again. I continued to walk, dragging Jenny with me. Jenny halted abruptly, though, and pulled me back.
She exclaimed, “Mommy, look!” as her eyes widened in shock.
I turned around grudgingly and saw this graceful woman, possibly in her mid-sixties, standing next to the display where we were embarrassed.
She had the appearance of someone from a high-end magazine. She wore gorgeous pearl earrings, her silver hair was combed flawlessly, and her heels likely cost more than I earned in a month. She had the very same pink cardigan Jenny had admired in her manicured hands.
She gave us a warm grin and motioned for us to return.
My stomach turned over. This rich woman was going to demand that I pay for the cardigan, which I believed we had somehow harmed. It cost more than I earned in two weeks of labor, as I had already seen the price tag previously.
All of my instincts told me to run, but Jenny’s inquisitive eyes were staring up at me with anticipation. I straightened my shoulders, inhaled deeply, and then moved back over.
The obnoxious salesperson was already there, still grinning like a mouse-caught cat.
“Please, go ahead and take this to the fitting room,” the lady whispered softly as she handed me the cardigan. I’d love to see your lovely daughter wearing it.
I stumbled and said, “I—I’m sorry, but I can’t afford this,” “I thought it was much cheaper when I looked at it before.”
Halfway through the phrase, my voice broke, revealing how vulnerable I was at the time.
The ruthless salesperson then gave a scathing, vile laugh.
“You see? She scoffed at the refined woman frankly, “I told you exactly what I meant.” “This woman entered here by accident and is simply another stray. Nothing in our store is within her budget. Just by touching that cardigan with her filthy hands, she has likely already damaged it. To be honest, her odor may now even cling to the fabric.
