Evil Bookstore that Nightmares are Made Of

March, in its typical lion/lamblike fashion has steamrolled through our neat little life and left us barely time to draw breath, let alone attend to important issues like spanking. I am feeling proud of my clean white canvas and wondering how much longer it will remain pristine. I always seem to run into trouble on weekends when there is time to get into mischief, and time to get caught. However, I feel in the newness of spring in the air, a new resolve to keep my bottom out from under Daddy's hand.

I have had one spanking since the cane, and it was a relatively mild one, thank goodness. It happened abruptly and suddenly and there was no opportunity to even consider negotiating cane strokes, though with the passage of time I almost feel as though my fear of the cane has grown rather than receded, so perhaps I won't be doing any futher bartering.

The last spanking was last Saturday and the circumstances surrounded it are rather complicated and strange but I will try to explain as simply as I can.

I was planning a trip out of town (touring with a show I am performing in) and was to leave Saturday and return Tuesday. Prior to leaving, I decided to go to the bookstore (I was tempted to name it and link it in my annoyance but Daddy said no!) to purchase a couple of books to read during the travel, and also a journal where I would record my experiences on the trip. I selected Girlfriend in a Coma by Douglas Coupland (a salute to my semi-Canadian roots) and Hawkes Harbor by S.E. Hinton (with which I struggle in an effort not to add a "u" to harbour) an author I enjoyed in my teen years and was surprised to see has begun to write horror/mystery. This is not a genre generally to my liking, but how could I avoid finding out what S.E. Hinton has been doing with herself since The Outsiders? But I digress! The important part of this story is that after selecting two novels, I also chose a sweet little journal with winged watersprites on the cover and fell rather in love with them.

I paid for my books at the cash register, took my bag, and went home. It wasn't until I arrived home that I realised that the journal had somehow not made it into the shopping bag. The two books were there, and the receipt, clearly showing charges for all three purchases, but no journal. I decided to make the short drive back to the bookstore immediately to explain the error.

It was there I encountered the difficulty and one of the rudest cashiers I have ever met. Unfortunately, the cashier who had rung through my order was not there, and so I approached the one who had taken her place, and explained what had happened. She rolled her eyes at me and checked under the counter for any misplaced spite-journals. None. She snapped her gum at me and told me that she couldn't do much to help me and that next time I "forgot" something at the counter, I should phone immediately so it wouldn't get put back on the shelf.

I explained politely that I had not forgotten my book, but that the cashier must have forgotten to put it in the bag, and she rolled her eyes at me again and slumped off through a swinging door to go and speak with a manager.

She finally came back to the counter and sighed at me and told me that she would allow me to find another copy of the journal and not charge me for it. "You're lucky this time," she said, "A lot of people steal books from here and then come back to get refunds. So we're trusting you this time." I was openmouthed.

"I'm not trying to get a refund," I told her. "And I have a receipt that shows I paid for this book. I have no reason to want two copies of the same book. I just want the item I paid for."

"Yeah, I get it," she said, snap-cracking the gum, "but people do things like that so I just want you to know that I'm trusting you even though I don't have to."

I was stunned at her implication that I was quite likely a thief, but I went to the shelf, found another copy of the journal I'd purchased earlier that day, and took it to the counter, and meekly left the store.

As I drove home, I grew angrier and angrier, reenacting the scene in my mind with different endings, where I climbed over the counter and grabbed the cashier by the throat and choked her, then karate-chopped her in the neck and pulled out handfuls of her hair. Each ending was bloodier than the last, and by the time I got home I furious.

Daddy was there when I got back home (having arrived some time during my second bookstore visit) and when he came to greet me, I barely let him say hello before I began telling him my story. He listened and sympathized sweetly.

We sat down to dinner, but the afternoon's events were still bothering me, and I must confess I think I made a pest of myself going over the details of my frustration over and over again throughout the meal. Finally Daddy asked, "Anna, why didn't you ask to see a manager if you were so upset? A cashier isn't allowed to speak to you that way. If she was rude, why didn't you ask to see her supervisor?"

I stopped short. I had no idea why I hadn't done that.

"Don't you think you would have felt better now if you'd resolved the issue in the store before leaving?"

I nodded. I certainly would have. As it stood now I was likely to be annoyed for days to come.

"We're going back to the store after dinner, Anna," he said, "and you're going to explain your concerns to a manager."

"Can't I just write a letter?" I asked him.

"Sweetheart, listen to how upset you are!" he said, "Obviously you need to stand up for yourself so you can feel better about this."

I agreed on one hand. On the other, I was uncomfortable with that. I am not a confrontational person in the least, and I don't like situations like this at all. I have always admired people (like my Daddy) who are able to express their displeasure at situations while keeping their cool, managing to remain polite, and still getting what they want. My style is usually to slink away and complain bitterly to whomever will listen to me later on. (Pathetic, I agree.)

Anyway, I asked Daddy if he could do the talking for me and he said absolutely not. He would go with me and stand beside me, but I had to talk for myself. And I refused to go. I just hate that kind of thing.

Finally, after trying to help me see why I needed to do this, Daddy said I had no choice, and I still said no, and he said I was showing myself no respect by not being brave enough to speak up for myself. Then he said that if I wasn't going to respect myself, I needed to be taught a lesson, and he pulled me across his lap very suddenly. I was wearing a dress, making access very simple, and he gave me a few sharp slaps over my panties before I was even able to really register what was happening. Then I started saying, no no no... I'll do it! but by then it was too late. (I was recently explaining to a friend of mine that once I am upended like that, there's no getting out of a spanking.)

He pulled my panties down to mid-thigh and gave me a handspanking on my bare bottom. I was embarrassed, and angry at first, but he held me firmly and spanked me until my bottom was stinging and tears were streaming down my face. "You will not disrespect the people I love, Anna," he told me while I cried, and held me when he was done, against his chest and rocked me back and forth. "You deserve to be treated with respect," he told me, "by that cashier, and also by yourself. I don't want you forgetting that." (Of course I see the irony of this statement being made by a man who has just spanked my bare bottom, but you'll have to believe me when I say that he did so very respectfully!)

We snuggled like that for a long time, and then, finally, when I was calm again, I washed my face, applied some eye makeup, and got in the car with Daddy who drove us to the bookstore. Inside, the cashier I'd had the trouble with was nowhere to be seen, so I approached another staff member who was stocking shelves and asked if I could speak to a manager. He went behind the swinging door and emerged with not one, but two, mangers.

I took a deep breath and explained what had happened as politely and firmly as I could, explaining that I was offended at the implication that I might have stolen the book and was seeking to take advantage of the store.

Daddy stood beside me and said nothing, but I drew tremendous strength from just having him there with me. Finally, after listening to the whole story, the manager told me he certainly understood my concern and apologized on behalf of the cashier. He also said he would "speak to her" about her behaviour.

For my part, I hope he will speak to her the same way my Daddy "spoke" to me!!