Saved by Cheerios

So, there he was. He was tall, dark and...... greasy. He stood over the cash register at the mall pretzel shop. Our eyes met as he was about to take my order. Before I could say anything, he stopped to pick at one of the oozing pimples on his face. Of course, he wiped it clean with a napkin shortly after and grabbed a pretzel. With a quick "Never mind," I ran off as quickly as I could.

Shocking as it may seem, this was not the first time I had to deprive my son of a pretzel at a mall. It has happened before, the same way at a different location. I understand that acne was even more uncomfortable for the cashier and an awkward part of growing up, but as long as there was no interaction between the acne and my pretzel, I would have been ok. Am I asking for too much?

After a persistent mall search for anything else my son would eat as a snack, on opposite ends of the mall no less, all he could say was "No! Pretzel mommy, pleeeeeeeeeeease." How could I refuse after a pleeeeeease like that? But how could I explain to him that it was unsanitary, and there was no way I would let him have one. I tried. Trust me. I tried and tried.

So, I did what any good mother would do and I returned to the pretzel place. There had been a change of shifts. A new greasy teen was on the register. I took my chance because the pretzel- twister-teen was wearing gloves and handling the actual pretzels. The line was long. That's a good thing, right? (Not for my two year old son.)

We finally reach the register. Ok, I can do this. As long as the pretzel-twister-teen is the one that hands us the pretzel. Just then (and this is no joke, I am serious!!!), the cashier teen gets a paper cut and screams. He tells me to hold on and begins sucking on the cut on his finger. He gets back to me. I can't move. I am in shock.

Thank goodness for the pretzel twister. He must have understood the look of fear on my face when he asked if HE could help me. I asked for a pretzel that HE twisted and just took out of the oven. He handed me one and I left the money on the counter. I left before I could get the change. I didn't want to take a chance on having him touch the register that that greasy teen #1 had touched and paper cut teen #2 had touched. I must have had that same look on my face I remember having when I had morning sickness with my pregnancy, because he asked if I was OK. I nodded, thanked him politely and left with my pretzel.

I hesitantly handed my son the CLEAN pretzel after inspecting it closely ten times. "No, mommy! Cheerios? " he asked. Did he understand?

Thankfully, I always have a cheerios stash in my purse. With a sigh of relief, I tossed the pretzel into the garbage can and handed my son his zip-locked cheerios.