Tweet
So, after about a year of wedding bliss with SC Lurker Kukla, I have a few background notes to report for this all to make sense.
As of Halloween last year, before getting married, I found and fell in love with our new dog, Finnegan (so named because I figured nobody in their right mind would name a kid Finnegan. Five days later, I'd met two girls and four boys named Finnegan. Go figure), who also happens to be an English Mastiff / Yellow Lab mix heavy on the Mastiff and low on the lab. At 18lbs as a puppy, he now tops the scales at 145lbs of empty-noggined droolmonkey, and has a prodigious appetite for things like dog treats, dog food, and the cat's catnip toys.
The good news is we live within walking distance of our local pet supply store, so periodically Finn and I walk down to pick up treats, toys, or anything else that fits in the backpack. I've yet to be able to fit the full 40lb bag of dogfood in with me, but still.
And the one thing about our dog is that there are no bad people, or dogs, or cats in the world. He loves them all and wants desperately to make friends with everyone. The whole body wag comes into play whenever he meets ANYONE new.
He is also ROYAL terrible about reading body language - specifically, body language that says "I am scared shitless of dogs, especially large dogs, especially large dogs that are physically larger than me in weight." He doesn't care, he just wants to love you, even if you're peeing yourself in primal fear.
The guys at the pet supply store love him. It's a boutique chain unique to the Puget Sound area but the prices are better than Major Pet Company Chains and the food is really, really good, comparatively speaking.
So I'm in the store with my graceless, loving idiot of 145lbs and getting a bag of dog treats, a couple of new chew toys, and a couple of catnip toys to replace our feline's stolen items. The store counters have boat-style cleats attached to the counter so pet owners with animals on leash can have both hands free once they lash up the leash to the counter.
I'm setting my things down on the counter when a lady with one of the cats that looks like it's been run into a wall by its face multiple times in arms literally elbows me aside and demands to get a refund for the opened can of cat food she's carrying in her other hand.
This is not a small task, mind you. I'm 6'5" and at last check-in, 285lbs. I'm not a slab of man-muscle, and I'm not a walking pile of flab, either, but somewhere between. And still, this five-foot nothing lady of a certain age in a bespoke white leather jacket trimmed with mink fur manages to both shove me aside and drop the stuff I'd just set down on the counter to the floor after tying up my 145lb pound canus doofurrinus.
The rep behind the counter looks at her and says, "I'd be happy to help you but that gentleman was in front of you."
Crazy Cat SC: "I don't care who's in front of me, this cat food is completely wrong! My cat wouldn't touch it and spent the entire night in the litterbox with diarrhea. I demand you make this right!"
Patient Cashier: "Yes, I'll take care of it and we'll do an exchange for you, but you need to wait your turn."
Crazy Cat SC: "No! You have to pay the vet bill. I had to take him into the clinic today to make sure nothing was wrong with him. It's the food you sold, so it's YOUR responsibility to take care of my cat."
This is where TDM (the less-than-cheerful man with a dog who has been trying desperately to say hello to Smushed-Face Kitty and is eagerly making straining noises that sound a lot like a boat cleat trying to strip its screws and come popping out of the counter) stands up.
Literally, that's all I did. Apparently, patient cashier said I loomed. I try not to loom. It's hard on the back, and when you really don't want people saying, "HE THREATENED ME" because you stood up and happened to be within a foot of them at the time.
TDM: Lady. One. Wait your fucking turn. Two. You shoved past me and tossed my things - including MY WALLET - to the floor. That's, in a word, inexcusably RUDE. Three, you chose the pet food. You paid for the pet food. You took the pet food home. You opened it. You say you put it in his food dish, but that he didn't touch it and he spent the night in the kitty box crapping the hell out of himself. So how is it that it's THEIR fault that your cat shit itself all night?"
Crazy Cat SC: *meeeeep*
TDM: You should apologize.
Crazy Cat SC: *gathering her momentum again* HOW DARE YOU TALK...
And that's when the Smushed-Face kitty, whose aged, aggrieved face looked right at me, got squeezed just a little too hard in the belly, and managed to squirt a fine spray of used gooshyfood all over Crazy Cat SC's white leather coat from its posterior.
TDM: *two beats* BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHA!
Patient Cashier: *grinning*
Crazy Cat SC: YOU...YOU....BUMS!
Crazy Cat SC storms past me but comes face to face with Finnegan the Wonder Doofus, who is sitting with a giant doggy grin on his face and what could be best described as "doggy boner" (he's been neutered, but every so often in extreme happy conditions, he gets...well, happy), shrieks, tosses the cat in the air, and suddenly realizes she's still covered in cat shit, grabs cat by the scruff of the neck, and bolts outside.
TDM: I'll help you clean up the floor.
Patient Cashier: Oh, that's not neccessary.
TDM: Well, I feel bad for you.
Patient Cashier: Oh, that's nothing. She tried to return used cat litter last week.
TDM *eyeboggles*
Patient Cashier: We have a really liberal return policy, but it's not THAT liberal.
TDM: So...
Patient Cashier: Let's get you non-catshit stuff and ring you back up.
Apparently she called back later that week to tell the manager on ME and demand that I be fired. Said manager apparently informed her she's no longer welcome on boutique grounds.
Later on I found out from another cashier this lady really -is- the crazy cat lady SC, and has tried to get all dog items banned from the boutique, as well as demanding to have her cat seen only at the vet clinic when no other species are present.
But Finn got dog biscuits, so it ended well for Finn, and that's mostly what's important.
As of Halloween last year, before getting married, I found and fell in love with our new dog, Finnegan (so named because I figured nobody in their right mind would name a kid Finnegan. Five days later, I'd met two girls and four boys named Finnegan. Go figure), who also happens to be an English Mastiff / Yellow Lab mix heavy on the Mastiff and low on the lab. At 18lbs as a puppy, he now tops the scales at 145lbs of empty-noggined droolmonkey, and has a prodigious appetite for things like dog treats, dog food, and the cat's catnip toys.
The good news is we live within walking distance of our local pet supply store, so periodically Finn and I walk down to pick up treats, toys, or anything else that fits in the backpack. I've yet to be able to fit the full 40lb bag of dogfood in with me, but still.
And the one thing about our dog is that there are no bad people, or dogs, or cats in the world. He loves them all and wants desperately to make friends with everyone. The whole body wag comes into play whenever he meets ANYONE new.
He is also ROYAL terrible about reading body language - specifically, body language that says "I am scared shitless of dogs, especially large dogs, especially large dogs that are physically larger than me in weight." He doesn't care, he just wants to love you, even if you're peeing yourself in primal fear.
The guys at the pet supply store love him. It's a boutique chain unique to the Puget Sound area but the prices are better than Major Pet Company Chains and the food is really, really good, comparatively speaking.
So I'm in the store with my graceless, loving idiot of 145lbs and getting a bag of dog treats, a couple of new chew toys, and a couple of catnip toys to replace our feline's stolen items. The store counters have boat-style cleats attached to the counter so pet owners with animals on leash can have both hands free once they lash up the leash to the counter.
I'm setting my things down on the counter when a lady with one of the cats that looks like it's been run into a wall by its face multiple times in arms literally elbows me aside and demands to get a refund for the opened can of cat food she's carrying in her other hand.
This is not a small task, mind you. I'm 6'5" and at last check-in, 285lbs. I'm not a slab of man-muscle, and I'm not a walking pile of flab, either, but somewhere between. And still, this five-foot nothing lady of a certain age in a bespoke white leather jacket trimmed with mink fur manages to both shove me aside and drop the stuff I'd just set down on the counter to the floor after tying up my 145lb pound canus doofurrinus.
The rep behind the counter looks at her and says, "I'd be happy to help you but that gentleman was in front of you."
Crazy Cat SC: "I don't care who's in front of me, this cat food is completely wrong! My cat wouldn't touch it and spent the entire night in the litterbox with diarrhea. I demand you make this right!"
Patient Cashier: "Yes, I'll take care of it and we'll do an exchange for you, but you need to wait your turn."
Crazy Cat SC: "No! You have to pay the vet bill. I had to take him into the clinic today to make sure nothing was wrong with him. It's the food you sold, so it's YOUR responsibility to take care of my cat."
This is where TDM (the less-than-cheerful man with a dog who has been trying desperately to say hello to Smushed-Face Kitty and is eagerly making straining noises that sound a lot like a boat cleat trying to strip its screws and come popping out of the counter) stands up.
Literally, that's all I did. Apparently, patient cashier said I loomed. I try not to loom. It's hard on the back, and when you really don't want people saying, "HE THREATENED ME" because you stood up and happened to be within a foot of them at the time.
TDM: Lady. One. Wait your fucking turn. Two. You shoved past me and tossed my things - including MY WALLET - to the floor. That's, in a word, inexcusably RUDE. Three, you chose the pet food. You paid for the pet food. You took the pet food home. You opened it. You say you put it in his food dish, but that he didn't touch it and he spent the night in the kitty box crapping the hell out of himself. So how is it that it's THEIR fault that your cat shit itself all night?"
Crazy Cat SC: *meeeeep*
TDM: You should apologize.
Crazy Cat SC: *gathering her momentum again* HOW DARE YOU TALK...
And that's when the Smushed-Face kitty, whose aged, aggrieved face looked right at me, got squeezed just a little too hard in the belly, and managed to squirt a fine spray of used gooshyfood all over Crazy Cat SC's white leather coat from its posterior.
TDM: *two beats* BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHA!
Patient Cashier: *grinning*
Crazy Cat SC: YOU...YOU....BUMS!
Crazy Cat SC storms past me but comes face to face with Finnegan the Wonder Doofus, who is sitting with a giant doggy grin on his face and what could be best described as "doggy boner" (he's been neutered, but every so often in extreme happy conditions, he gets...well, happy), shrieks, tosses the cat in the air, and suddenly realizes she's still covered in cat shit, grabs cat by the scruff of the neck, and bolts outside.
TDM: I'll help you clean up the floor.
Patient Cashier: Oh, that's not neccessary.
TDM: Well, I feel bad for you.
Patient Cashier: Oh, that's nothing. She tried to return used cat litter last week.
TDM *eyeboggles*
Patient Cashier: We have a really liberal return policy, but it's not THAT liberal.
TDM: So...
Patient Cashier: Let's get you non-catshit stuff and ring you back up.
Apparently she called back later that week to tell the manager on ME and demand that I be fired. Said manager apparently informed her she's no longer welcome on boutique grounds.
Later on I found out from another cashier this lady really -is- the crazy cat lady SC, and has tried to get all dog items banned from the boutique, as well as demanding to have her cat seen only at the vet clinic when no other species are present.
But Finn got dog biscuits, so it ended well for Finn, and that's mostly what's important.
Wha wha wha???
Your description amused me.
This image...just...HAHAHAHA!
Comment