How Did I Get Here?

Quote of the Day: “I’m a godmother, that’s a great thing to be, a godmother. She calls me god for short, that’s cute, I taught her that.”

Here ye, here ye… OK, everyone gather around. I have an important announcement to make.

AS OF TODAY, THE 25TH DAY OF JANUARY, IN THE YEAR OF OUR LORD TWO-THOUSAND AND TEN, THE COMPANY I WILL RELUCTANTLY UTTER FROM MY LIPS FOR THE LAST TIME, PETSMART, WILL NO LONGER EXIST IN MY REALITY AND WILL RESIDE ONLY ON MY SHIT LIST FOR ALL OF ETERNITY.

There, I feel much better.

Here is what happened.

I was not in a good mood to begin with. No particular reason, I just wasn’t. So TheStoreThanWon’tBeNamed (TSTWBN) picked a bad day to perform their jackassery. It cost them my business from now until the Sun swallows up the Earth, and a few eons beyond.

I took Buster in to get his nails clipped because now that he is old and decrepit (welcome to the club, buddy), he doesn’t take as many walks that used to keep his nails filed. Now we have to have it done to the tune of about $11.

So I drive there with Buster in the back seat like I’m Driving Miss Daisy, and get him to the back of the store where all the “Pet Stylist Professionals” were.

OK, first, you clip dog hair, you idiots. You are not “Pet Stylist Professionals” just like housewives are not “Domestic Engineers” or male airline stewardesses are not “stewards” (they are ALL stewardesses.)

You clip nails. You shampoo dogs, You brush their teeth. Don’t make it more than it is.

Anyway, I bring Buster in and the first warning sign I see is a woman shaving some poor little lapdog and she kind of yanks his head sideways and says “Stop it!”

Man, I hope Buster doesn’t get her.

Here is how the conversation went:

“What is your dog’s name?”
“Buster.”
“What breed is he?”
“Half Rhodesian Ridgeback and half pit bull.”
“Have you been here before?”
“Yes, quite a few times.”
“What do you need today?”
“I just need his nails clipped and grinded.”
“I don’t see you in the computer. Have you brought in his records?”
“Well, he has had his rabies shot but we prefer to have him muzzled anyway so since you guys muzzle him without the record, I never bothered to bring it in.”
“Oh, OK, … um, how old is he?”
“About 10.”

Up to this point, it was a friendly conversation. She seemed to be interested in Buster which I thought was a great sign since she would be clipping his nails soon so I thought nothing of that last question.

“We can’t muzzle him.”
“What?”
“Company policy, if they are 10 years or older, we can’t muzzle him.”

OK, the conversation just went from zero to asshole in nothing flat.

“You just did it like a month ago.”
“Sorry, company policy says…”
“Yes, I heard you the first time but it makes no sense.”
“I’m sorry…”

It was at this point that I walked out of there and was so mad, I vowed never, EVER to return.

You don’t understand, when someone wrongs a Grose male (and it takes oh so very little to do so…), it is like a vendetta that tattoos right to the bone. Middle Eastern tensions will sooner be smoothed out before a Grose male ever forgives such mistreatment.

What I should have said was one of two things that probably would not have worked anyway and set me more on fire than I was already.

1. “OK, he’s 8. Now clip him.” : although there is no proof either way of his age, I would have put her in a very awkward situation where she would be forced to deny me service because I had said that he was 10 a few moments before. That would have probably ended with me yelling an explicative and storming out.

2. “Look, he has had his rabies shot. You muzzled him last month. He’s not even actually 10 until July. Can you just clip him and I will make sure that when I come in next month, I will bring his record. I just don’t want to go all the way home right now since I have him right here.”

That second one might have worked but I was too pissed off to think clearly and instead, just walked out without a further word and declared that TSTWBN will never ever ever ever ever ever ever see me bringing Buster in again for anything. I will not purchase ANYTHING from TSTWBN and don’t care if I receive a flyer offering everything in the store free of charge.

TSTWBN, you are dead to me.

So it is said, so it is done.

Dead.

Free Advice for Today: “Call three friends on Thanksgiving and tell them how thankful you are for their friendship.”

This entry was posted on Monday, January 25th, 2010 at 10:57 pm and is filed under Uncategorized. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.