I’m outside walking diesel (18 lb bichon #1) and he’s taking his sweet time to find a spot to shit. Normally, he’s got no problem backing up to the living room rug and releasing his meatball. Anywhere, anytime. And that’s when he’s inside and no one’s looking.
When he’s outside and it’s ass cold, and I’m holding his leash, he has to be more discriminating. He paces and stops and turns and inspects, and sniffs the ground like he works for homeland security.
“Just take a shit already, you little turd,” I say.
I’ve almost lost feeling in my extremities due to the cold.
Nope. Got to find the perfect spot. Anything less will simply not do. Not exactly sure why, but there is something in the fickle nature of canine bowels that mandates a militarily precise landing zone when the dog is on leash. Must be a control thing.
Whatever it is, it’s more than a little annoying.
As cold as I am, I can’t just slam shut the window of opportunity. Here’s why: Earlier in the day we were walking past the event hall. They were having a BBQ and I started flapping my jaw with the cook. We got so into it that she burned the sausage beyond legal human consumption.
Diesel, as if on queue, opened his puppy dog eyes wide and it was a short trip to a plate of blackened sausage. He ate 6 inches of sausage and that’s got to hurt folks.
So I knew that it wouldn’t be long before we saw that mass one way or another. Meanwhile, what can I do but yell at him to hurry up.
Because I’m cold…
Wednesday, February 4, 2009
I thought old people were nice...
I thought old people were nice??
Today at Panera in The Villages (Disney World for golfcart driving retirees) , I was working on my laptop. For the record, I ordered a breakfast sandwich, decaf and a muffin. By old people’s standards, that’s a friggin voluminous meal. Anyway, when my computer battery started to die a few hours later, I looked under all the old people’s legs for an outlet (ok I’ll admit it was a bit creepy) and spying one, relocated to within 6 feet of it. Couple empty tables here and there. The place was starting to thin out. The time was 11:15. Wasn’t long before I figured out that the outlet was dead and that my writing session was coming to a mandatory end. The national chain offers free wifi but no way to recharge you battery. Brilliant tactic to discourage non paying barnacles like me…(except I am a pig and eat almost my entire body weight in any given 8 hour session).
As I’m packing up, an old turtle of a man wags his bony finger at me and without saying a word, calls me over. I though he needed help getting up or was choking on a tooth or something. Instead of being grateful that I’ve come to help (I am also a licensed EMT in NY state), he barks at me, “Sign says you can’t use them things in here from 11-3. People can’t get a seat.” His wife shrinks a little lower. He’s got the fire in his eyes. Looking for a fight. I remember the look from my bar crawling days.
I was a little taken aback. For starters, there was no sign.
“Am I not a person? Do I not deserve a seat?”
“Not allowed to use those things in here. Read the sign.”
“But there’s no sign.”
“Well, there was one yesterday. Must be fixing it.”
“Do you work here sir?
“No but I read signs and obey the law. And you should too.”
Ouch.
Well I wasn’t going to scrap with grandpa in Paneras. He had lots of people on his side and though they may be arthritic, en masse they could put some hurt on me. I took the high road and ambled outside mumbling something about mandatory institutionalization for those suffering from senile dementia. Outside it was fresh and thus completely uncrowded. I plugged into a working outlet and started recharging. A fellow with a collared shirt on was pushing tables around, arranging things and muttering to himself . He looked to have some authority.
I asked if he was a manager, or at least employee. He was. I asked for clarification on the corporate policy that some twisted old maverick fruitcake felt empowered to enforce. “Was I not allowed to use my computer in Panera from 11-3?”
The manager chuckled and reassured me that the only thing that was changing nationwide was that Panera as a chain was cutting off the free wifi for those busy hours to discourage non consumers to make it their office. I was most certainly allowed to have my laptop and use it anytime I wanted, for as long as I wanted.
Well I went back in to find grandpa and give him a piece of my mind but he’d moved on.
Chicken.
Today at Panera in The Villages (Disney World for golfcart driving retirees) , I was working on my laptop. For the record, I ordered a breakfast sandwich, decaf and a muffin. By old people’s standards, that’s a friggin voluminous meal. Anyway, when my computer battery started to die a few hours later, I looked under all the old people’s legs for an outlet (ok I’ll admit it was a bit creepy) and spying one, relocated to within 6 feet of it. Couple empty tables here and there. The place was starting to thin out. The time was 11:15. Wasn’t long before I figured out that the outlet was dead and that my writing session was coming to a mandatory end. The national chain offers free wifi but no way to recharge you battery. Brilliant tactic to discourage non paying barnacles like me…(except I am a pig and eat almost my entire body weight in any given 8 hour session).
As I’m packing up, an old turtle of a man wags his bony finger at me and without saying a word, calls me over. I though he needed help getting up or was choking on a tooth or something. Instead of being grateful that I’ve come to help (I am also a licensed EMT in NY state), he barks at me, “Sign says you can’t use them things in here from 11-3. People can’t get a seat.” His wife shrinks a little lower. He’s got the fire in his eyes. Looking for a fight. I remember the look from my bar crawling days.
I was a little taken aback. For starters, there was no sign.
“Am I not a person? Do I not deserve a seat?”
“Not allowed to use those things in here. Read the sign.”
“But there’s no sign.”
“Well, there was one yesterday. Must be fixing it.”
“Do you work here sir?
“No but I read signs and obey the law. And you should too.”
Ouch.
Well I wasn’t going to scrap with grandpa in Paneras. He had lots of people on his side and though they may be arthritic, en masse they could put some hurt on me. I took the high road and ambled outside mumbling something about mandatory institutionalization for those suffering from senile dementia. Outside it was fresh and thus completely uncrowded. I plugged into a working outlet and started recharging. A fellow with a collared shirt on was pushing tables around, arranging things and muttering to himself . He looked to have some authority.
I asked if he was a manager, or at least employee. He was. I asked for clarification on the corporate policy that some twisted old maverick fruitcake felt empowered to enforce. “Was I not allowed to use my computer in Panera from 11-3?”
The manager chuckled and reassured me that the only thing that was changing nationwide was that Panera as a chain was cutting off the free wifi for those busy hours to discourage non consumers to make it their office. I was most certainly allowed to have my laptop and use it anytime I wanted, for as long as I wanted.
Well I went back in to find grandpa and give him a piece of my mind but he’d moved on.
Chicken.
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