One of my colleagues is taking her four year-old to Disneyland and announced her intention to write her cell phone number of the kid’s arm in sharpie, to aid in resolution if they were separated. Seems like a good idea.

Oddly, it reminded me of something I witnessed a few months ago at the Ross in Capitola. Now, if you’ve been to a Ross, you know that it’s a great place to go if you’re on the fence about sterilization because the amount of screaming, unsupervised children is just astonishing. Everytime I leave here I find myself on my hands and knees, begging strangers, "tie my tubes, please... someone... tie my tubes..." But Ross sometimes has fun, cheap shoes and when this drama began to unfold I was knee-deep in a pile of size 8’s, trying to find the other half of a pair of NineWest black slingbacks with white stitching. Rounded toe. Little ankle strap. $24.99. Lovely.

The music at Ross is purposefully annoying so you will buy something quick and get the hell out, just to avoid hearing Right Here Waiting one more time. Just as my ears were about to start bleeding from Up Where We Belong the loudspeaker crackled:

“Ross shoppers, your attention please. There is a little girl at the front counter who is missing her mom. She is waiting at the front counter for you.”

A couple minutes later…

“Attention, please. There is a little girl at the front counter who is lost. She has brown hair and is wearing a white shirt and red pants.” There is a pause, some muffled sounds and a different voice repeats the message in Spanish.

About five minutes pass. I find the other slingback but it won’t fit over the huge bunion on my right foot. I am cursing my genetic history in my head when I hear another announcement:

“There is a missing child at the front desk. Please look around and make sure your kids are with you. The parent of this child needs to come to the front of the store and collect your child immediately.”

Customers in the store start looking at each other and raising their eyebrows. Who hears a description of their kid called over the loudspeaker and doesn’t immediately run over? The woman next to me shakes her head, “People these days…” she mutters. I nod. She looks at me sharply, “It’s not your kid, is it?” I shake my head “no” vehemently. Later I will come up with the phrase, Bitch, does it look like this body has had a baby? Tragically I have not yet had occasion to use it.

A few more minutes go by before there is another announcement. This is a different voice, older and... pissed.

“There is a little girl here at the front counter who is lost. She will not tell us her name. She is very scared and if her mom is here you need to come get her right now. If you do not come get your child we will have to call the police.”

At this point everybody’s looking towards the front of the store. Sure enough, there’s a little girl up there. She has long brown hair and she’s probably about 4. She has some kind of toy with her which is the focus of her attention. She seems more nonchalant than scared. It looks like a couple of the employees are asking her questions but she just kind of looks at them. She ain’t talking. I know I’m not buying anything but I’m not going to leave while all this drama is playing out. I sidle over to sunglasses and wait to see what happens next.

“Attention, please. If know the little girl in the red pants and white shirt, you need to come get her, right now. This is not a babysitting service and we will call the police.”

I kept expecting someone to burst into the store hysterically: There you are! But no one does.

The little girl’s expression does not change as the announcements come over the loudspeaker. She continues to look down. Does she understand what's going on? I see a mom with a couple small kids with her prodding the little girl for her name but she doesn’t respond. The concerned mother’s kids hang back quietly, staring at the little girl. Their expressions are more wary than confused.

Every time the door opens the growing crowd surrounding the girl looks over, but no one who comes in seems to be missing a child. We know what we expect to see. We already have the resolution in our minds. A woman runs in, face streaked with tears. She’ll grab the little girl, the panic over, the relief visibly washing over her. Everyone will be relieved, the story will come out: She ran into the store while I wasn’t looking... I turned my back, just for a second... her brother was supposed to watch her…

Eventually I decide that maybe I’ve done enough rubbernecking of human tragedy for the day. There's no useful role for me here. I cast a glance towards the little girl as I leave. The woman whose appearance matches the old and pissed voice on the loudspeaker is on the phone, gesticulating angrily.

As I walk to my car the horror of the situation starts to hit home and a cold feeling spreads through my gut. What if it’s not just some kind of horrible mix-up? What if her mom really does just leave her kid in a store and go off on her own? What if she’s been abandoned? It occurs to me I don’t really know what would happen to this little girl.

As I drive out of the parking lot I see a Capitola police car slowly pull to stop outside the store. I don't know what happened after that.