Little Monster Hell: A Retail Hell Underground Digital Short

By Freeman Hall

There is no wrath like a Hellspawn scorned . . .

They scream. They cry. And they’re worse then just miniature versions of their entitled, rude, and too-often crazy parents. They’re Hellspawn.

These child terrors didn’t get their name for being cute. They have ransacked stores, turned on their parents, and tried to get employees fired. And the retail slaves that suffer their tantrums are tired of keeping quiet.

In these 43 hilarious-and-true stories from RetailHellUnderground.com bloggers, little monsters like Pee Boy, Pony Girl, and the Little Ice Cream Devils give kids everywhere a bad name. But when Mouthy gets his smart-alecky due and the Screamer is offered an exorcism, you’ll find yourself rooting for the Underground heroes in no time!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Simon & Schuster
• Release date: Sep 10, 2012
• ISBN: 9781440537080

Freeman Hall

Author of the acclaimed memoir Retail Hell, Freeman Hall spends his days running popular blogs and dogwalking his neighbor's adorable canines. He is also the author of Little Monster Hell, Discount Hell, and Return to the Big Fancy.

Book preview

Little Monster Hell

A Retail Hell Underground Digital Short

Edited by Freeman Hall

Avon, Massachusetts

Contents

Greetings Curious Reader

Game of Flower Ball

To Give the Devil Everything He Wants

Day of the Hellspawn

Taking a Bite out of Discipline

Hellspawn Teachings

Pee Boy

Pony Girl

Hellspawn Old Slavery Style

Little Ice Cream Devils

Five Hellspawn Tales to Scream By

Screamers

Sticky Fingers

Hellspawn in the Machine

Ego-Freaks, Giggly Girls, and Empties

Thank the Retail Gods for Old-Fashioned Values

Mouthy Hellspawn

Let Me Out Now

Good Kid, Bad Parent

Hellspawn at Play

It’s No Use Crying over Spilled Shampoo

Is That My Hellspawn?

Party Brat

Little NAT

Entitled Tweens in the Fitting Room

King-Sized Family Brawl in 3D

Daredevil Spawn

Hellspawn Gets What He Wants

Flight of the Wrecks

Shades of Hellspawn

Demon Tommy

Cookie Monster

Don’t Drink the Soda; or, How to Get Fired via Society’s Failures

Not So Magical Monsters

Playtime Bribery

Hellspawn Tales of the Used to Be Rich and No Longer Famous

Birthday Wishes from Hell

Karate Spawn

Just Say No

Johnny’s Bad Choices

Mistaken for Hellspawn

Grandmaspawn

Between Heaven and Hellspawn

Gift of the Heavenspawn

Copyright Page

Greetings Curious Reader,

My name is Freddy, cryptkeeper of the Retail Hell Underground Blog. In 2007, I and many of my friends were fed up with our retail jobs — the way we were being treated by our companies, customers, and coworkers. There was no place to go for support or help, or to blow off steam and laugh about the place we call hell. So, I took to the dark recesses of the Internet in a skull mask and wig and created Retail Hell Underground — a place for anyone in the service industry who needs to rant, laugh, support, or seek advice about their jobs. RHU is not just for those in retail but anyone who has to deal with customers or coworkers. Because the antihuman corporations we slave away for would fire us if they knew our identities, we hide our names and faces on The Underground. Bloggers of RHU have taken on screen personalities to tell their stories and rant about what pisses them off or makes them go WTFLOL. Many of the stories you are about to read come from RHU’s Monster Bloggers — those who share their experiences, photos, and voices regularly, and you can find them lurking on The Underground on any given day. The tales you are about to read are all based on true incidents Names and places have been changed to protect the innocent and keep the guilty from suing. Any resemblances to real people or real companies are purely coincidental — so don’t whip out your lawyer panties, corporate America!

Enjoy your stay on The Underground Curious Reader. Remember to keep your arms and legs inside at all times and wear your safety belt! This wild ride through service hell will definitely turn you upside down!

And remember … laughing about your hell is the best way to cure it.

xo,

Freddy

Game of Flower Ball

Give me that one! said the little demon girl with stringy, unkempt blond hair, pointing to an expensive evening bag shaped like a basketball covered in silk red roses. Take it out now, I want to see it!

Good try you Children of the Corn board member! In your evil dreams.

It’s a very expensive designer bag, I replied, It’s better if you just admire it from outside.

The evening bag this salivating little demon wanted to get her claws on was delicate to say the least — completely covered in realistic fake silk roses. The work of some overpriced French designer whose name I could never remember how to pronounce, the French Flower Bag (or Frenchie, as we came to know it at The Big Fancy), had a take-home ticket price of $500! Shocking to most, and laughed at by many, the odd evening accessory looked like it belonged hanging on a patio instead of a woman’s shoulder. Frenchie was the kind of bag I knew was headed for a rough life in the Handbag Jungle. If it wasn’t going to get returned and used a million times, marked down and tossed around the clearance table like a cheap whore, or sent packing to the last-chance store, it would be destroyed at the hands of a Hellspawn.

For centuries humankind has been tortured and frightened by the smaller, younger versions of themselves known as bratty or misbehaving children. In the service world these miniature human nightmares have come to be called Hellspawn, a horror-inspired title because of the hellacious incidents they cause in public places. These evil creatures have also been referred to by many victims as Devil Spawn, Demon Seed, Satan’s Son (or Daughter), Monster, and Little Fuckers.

Standing in front of me with a scowl that could turn me into stone, this pint-sized hellion gave me the sick feeling that she was indeed going to live up to her destructive namesake.

If you don’t take it out now, announced Demon Girl, I’m going to complain about you in customer service. I’ve done it before.

I’m sure you have, you conniving little bitch. Wow, Demon Girl isn’t just your average brat with ’tude, she’s got evil balls Satan would be envious of.

What could I do?

I knew if the Flower Ball was removed from the haven of its glass prison and placed in the hands of this hellspawn girl something very bad was going to happen. Not only was I worried about what she would do to it, but the mini monster also had a shrieking piggy little brother running around nearby. The two had only been terrorizing the handbag department for less than five minutes and already they’d made a mess by releasing paper stuffing from two Juicy Couture bags and then attempting to shove it all into a space under the fixture. Seconds after that, they got into a wrestling match, knocked over a floor sign, and ended up in a screaming fight about who the hell knows. And now I was seconds away from running in the back and taking an emergency Xanax I had hiding under a Marc Jacobs bag.

"Give it to me now!" the hellspawn screamed sounding frighteningly similar to Veruca Salt in Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory (the old version of course).

Now her piggy brother had joined her and was ogling Frenchie, pressing his greasy fingers against the display case and having dodge ball fantasies no doubt. I looked over at their Demon Mom scouring the clearance table, completely oblivious to what her kids were doing. A sad but typical sight in retail hell. The fate of this French Flower Bag was suddenly playing out in front of me like a retail horror movie I’d seen too many times. I had no choice. My crazy store manager Suzy Davis-Johnson had issued customer service decrees many time stating that we were to never profile custys and treat them all the same. That would include drunks, druggies, crazies, bums, and unfortunately hellspawn.

I said a useless prayer for Frenchie, reached in the case, grabbed it by its black silk rope strap and handed it to the sweaty waiting paws of Demon Girl. She shrieked in delight and ran off toward her mother with her grabby hellspawn brother running behind like she’d just caught the Golden Snitch in a game of Quidditch.

The last memory I have of seeing Flower Ball before its ruin, was when Demon Girl excitedly presented it to her mother, who acted as if it were the vilest thing she’d ever seen. Like thousands of other custys, she looked at the price, laughed, and instantly rejected it, tossing it on to the clearance table.

Thanks Demon Mom! You know that doesn’t go there, you dumbass piggy shopper!

I was about to retrieve it before some Discount Rat threw a price tantrum and wanted Frenchie for $50, when suddenly the phone rang and a custy walked up to the counter with a return. It got busy for a few minutes and I lost track of time.

And of Frenchie.

That is, until it went sailing by my head like a baseball.

I looked over just in time to see Demon Girl and Brother go from a game of catch to a world cup reenactment in which Frenchie was about to become the soccer ball.

Before I could scream, "Stoooooooop!" Demon Girl pulled back her right leg and released it like a shotgun trigger kicking Frenchie across the department with great force, entire roses flew off of its rotund body as it zoomed across the floor to the feet of Demon Brother who quickly responded with a less than powerful kick.

I was about to hurdle the counter and put an end to this destructive game of Hellspawn