Pet Store Police

Guinea Pig“Yeah, so how much does that one cost, then?”  I climbed over the desk yet again to get another pet out so the guy with the weirdo eyes could hold it, stroke it, make eye contact with it, and ultimately deem it “not what he wanted in his apartment.”  This time is was a chinchilla he wanted, but those things are expensive so we can’t let just anyone rub their greasy fingers over them, especially when they been eating Slim Jims like I saw this guy doing out the window.  “OK, then, show me that one.”  He pointed indiscriminately at the animal in the next cage over, a fluffy and especially squeaky guinea pig that I had privately christened Sir Agamemnon of Bristol Country due to his regal, yet warrior-like carriage.  I deposited Sir Aggie in the guy’s Slim Jimmy hands, watching with barely disguised disgust as he greased his fluffy fur down.  Ags shook it all back out again, with rigor, and that seemed to strike the guy’s interest.  “Cool, sold,” he said.  “This thing will look awesome in my living room.”  This thing?  I’ve been at this pet store for three years now, and I can say that people usually got a goal when they come in.  They want a fish, or a bunny, or on the most exciting days, a little puppy or kitten, but they never just come in looking for any old animal to fill some design need in their living room.  And I had a sneaking suspicion that Sir Bristol’s skin was going to be the star of this guy’s living room, not the gp himself.  He deserved better than that.  So, yeah, I told him to get the fuck out, grabbed Aggie, and left myself.  I wasn’t stealing him, just helping a brother out of a tough spot.  OK, that’s all I have to say, am I done making the statement now?  My mom says I got to call a lawyer before I say another word.  Plus Agamemnon needs to get to sleep – he’s had a long day.

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