The nightmare of Chuck E. Cheese...and how I wanted to beat a skank down.

We took Miles and Lola to Chuck E. Cheese tonight. Several people have told me that C.E.C. sells beer. I should have looked into it, because I think I needed a sedative after, oh, about five minutes.

The place was packed to the gills. We had to wait a minute to enter and then we were seated by an employee. The place was just swimming with mainly whiskey tango families. I can't forget to mention the Stinky McSstinks. Literally, I was overwhelmed with the smell of sour crotch as I waiting in line behind some real nice yet hygienically challenged people. I had to take a step or two back, pretending to be just stepping back to see another game machine. The number of skanky white women with caked on makeup and children with stripper names was phenomenal. The number of men in desperate need of a haircut, a shave and and a toothbrush was something you couldn't ignore.

We battled the hordes long enough to accumulate 641 tickets, as we brought in 270 saved up points. We got in line to choose our prizes. A smart alec little boy, about seven years old, turned around and smarted off to Miles that he was in line first. Ohhhhhhhhkay. We weren't trying to cut. In fact, he kept lingering out of the line and then jumping back into place and we never said a word...but if you know me, you know I told Miles just to ignore him and not to worry about it since he kept getting out of line anyway. I didn't say a word to him. Now, not 60 seconds after he disrespectfully barked at Miles about her place in line, he invited someone to cut in front of her and join him in line. Really! Again, if you know me, then you do know that I did say something this time. Forget the fact that it turns out that the person he invited to join him was his sister. How was I supposed to know that, since no parent was in sight. He should not have smarted off to Miles about the line if he intended to disregard the line behind him.

I nicely said, "Ohhhhh, no, I'm so sorry, but you just made an ugly comment to her about the line, and you are not going turn right around and invite someone to cut in front of her when she is waiting her turn." I wasn't mean about it. I didn't raise my voice or act confrontational. I just said it nicely to make a point. Yes, I know I said it to someone else's kid. I wouldn't necessarily have said it to someone else's kid had there been a parent in sight.

A moment later, a skanky girl, probably about 22 years old, steps over and asks me if there's a problem, flashing a condescending grin in an attempt to intimidate me. The boy who seems about seven years old is her son, and it seems that the girl he invited to join him in line is her daughter, Destiny. DESTINY.

The 'lady' has long brown hair and an insane amount of caked on Cover Girl foundation coating her bad skin. She has been in a different line for prizes with Destiny. I say that I'm simply making sure that my child has someone watching out for her, as she was rudely told that she was behind him in line when she wasn't trying to cut, only to have him turn around and invite someone to cut in front of her and that I let him know that this wasn't acceptable.

I won't go in to all the details, but the girl repeatedly tries to ask what the problem was and why I said soemthing. After explaining twice more that he smarted off about my child's place in line, only to turn around and invite someone to cut line, I just tell her to find a manager if she has a problem with it, but that I don't owe anyone an explanation for taking up for my daughter and calling someone out for cutting in front of her, as the lines were already long. By this time, her bleached blond friend has joined in, smarting off and referring to me in third person, like I am not two feet away. I ignore it. They keep it up, antagonizing me to argue with them. I continue to ignore it as I help my precious girls pick out some sparkly combs, a stretchy ring and a stretchy bracelet. We decide to save 200 points for another visit.

We get our prizes and leave. I get a serious case of the stink eye as we pass the skanks on our way out. Phillip and I start laughing when we make it outside. He says, and I quote, "They all smelled like cigarettes anyway. Don't worry about it."

The point of this entry is that you can't even go to Chuck E. Cheese and expect people to have a small amount of respect for strangers. I don't even remotely regret that standing up for my child caused me to have a stare down with some skank. I am certainly not afraid of someone just because she's someone that would give her daughter a stripper's name.