An open letter to Corda at Children's Place in Aspen Grove, Littleton, CO

You suck.

Now look, I had a lovely time in your store on Tuesday when I purchased a few things off of the Monster Sale rack. You were sweet and very talkative and that's why my son, who loves sweet and talkative people, kind of took to you. And you were so sweet when he asked about where the suits were and said he meant wedding suits not swimming suits. You told us about your son's tux he wore years back, when he was the Budge's age, which you were getting ready to give to goodwill, and how cute your son looked in it. I thought you were very charming.

And then you made a fatal mistake: you told my son you would pack up that tux and bring it for him instead of sending it to Goodwill. You told him you would be back on Saturday. You smiled. You promised. You showed him the rack where it would be hanging in case you got off work before we managed to get there. And I memorized your name, because I was afraid something like this would happen.

On Wednesday he woke up and asked me if it was Saturday.
On Thursday he woke up and asked me if it was Saturday.
On Friday he woke up and asked me if it was Saturday.
This morning he didn't even ask. I could see on his face that he knew: It was Saturday. The boy looked like he was about to have puppies he was so happy.

So this afternoon, at 4 pm, we packed up and came to your shop to collect the tuxedo you volunteered, promised, and offered. I spent the day with a feeling of dread, to be honest. What if you didn't come through? After all, you are a stranger - and I'm the mother who would have to console him when five days' worth of anticipation crashed down upon him.

And it did. Crash, that is. When we walked in, he didn't see you, and his lit up face snuffed out. When I explained to the other cashiers that you were supposed to leave something for us and he ran to the rack you showed him and there was nothing? He whimpered a little.

When the cashiers called in back to see if the suit was there and it wasn't, he screamed.

And he kept screaming. He screamed and cried on the way out of the store. And on the sidewalk out front. And in Build-A-Bear where he and his sister intended to spend their cash from Grandma and Grandpa.

NOBODY in this world gets to disappoint my son like that but me, Corda. NOBODY. Do you understand me?

I have a lot of names I could call you, but I won't. You're a stranger. For all I know Children's Place's hiring practices are whack and you are a nutjob. And I doubt you'll ever read this. Regardless, you should know this: should I ever come to Children's Place again, and if you're there, I won't buy anything. I'll move stuff from rack to rack and I might even leave a scat-filled diaper in the dressing room, but I will not purchase a single thing from you. Those small efforts and blogging about you are my only recourse.

And here's a hint: Next time, don't make promises to a 4 year old. At least not mine. Your four year old might've been too stupid or frail to remember the promises of a stranger, but mine is not.