Yes, this really happened, yes it happened to me.

Someone on the Wench board posted a story of a Very Rotten Day at work, and I decided, now, after a few days (I think this happened Sunday), when the trauma has faded a trifle, that it was time to share this story. This is what I responded to her with:






I've got one that might make you feel better.

I work at a lovely little jewelry store in Center City and at the Philly Airport. So last week, I'm out at the airport store, minding my own-- well, the owner's business, when a woman comes in with what looks like a heavy carry-on.

Her carry-on wriggles.

"May I just set this down over here while I shop?" she asks.

"Er..." we all say. "What is that?"

Lo and behold, she unzips the bag, and out wriggles an absolutely adorable black American Cocker Spaniel. His name is Logan. He's just a bundle of energy. So I cheerfully volunteer to watch him a moment as she shops. And shops. And shops. Pretty soon, I'm more puppy-wrangling than actually watching, as our store opens onto the A-B connector between concourses, and if that dog gets out, he's gone. He could end up in Singapore, if he can snag someone's passport. Not to mention Airport Security will have a field day with a loose animal.

Not only this, but this is an actual place of business, and some people are foolish enough to actually want help. Which I can't give whilst chasing a puppy. I make a vain attempt to put the twenty-pound puppy back into his ten-pound bag, at which point the sweet little thing abruptly turns into Cthulu with teeth and a sonic growl. So what do I do? I pick the dog up.

So here I am, trying desperately to carry a fairly solid, squirming Cocker Spaniel, open cases, retrieve jewelry for customers, and converse in a businesslike yet charming way, all the while trying to act like I'm not carrying a fairly solid, squirming Cocker Spaniel. In the meantime, his mommy is dithering about ridiculously expensive jewelry she probably has no intention of actually buying. (Me: "So what do you do that you get to take your dog everywhere with you?" Her "Nothing." Which I took to mean she's just got more money than sense, but you know. She feeds the dog special yogurt and hard-boiled eggs and all sorts of other things. The thing eats better than I do.)

So finally, she decides that as her flight's supposed to leave in ten minutes and she's on standby, perhaps, yes, she should get to her gate. By this time, all the dog-love in the world isn't going to help me with darling, spoiled Logan. With relief, I happily hand him back to his mommy. At last, I can get back to work. Until.

"Er...Maya?" I say slowy, as she's just given one of the other salespeople her name in case she changes her mind about this jewelry we know she isn't going to buy.

"Yes?"

"...When was Logan last out?"

"Oh, just a little while ago. Why?"

"I think you may want to take him again."

That rotten little dog had peed ALL OVER me.

I was ticked. Maya was aghast. My coworkers were trying not to choke in the background.

I stalked off, and had to suffer the further indignity of bathroom-hopping, until I could snag an assisted-care bathroom, wherein I had to literally strip to my underwear and wash my velvet jumper and my shirt in the sink. And attempt, most pitifully, to dry it with a wall-dryer. It took me over half an hour, and I still had to go back to the store for five more hours, seepingly damp, and faintly malodorous.

And inevitably, I got the third degree from my own dog when I got home with the canine version of lipstick on my collar. "Where have you been?" Sniff "WHAT have you been DOING? And WITH WHOM?"

So yes, sometimes I need reminding about why I love my job, too.

Feel better?