October 14, 2007

Nick, Gary and myself went out for brunch today at a local diner. After leaving, I wanted to pick up some ground coffee at Starbucks, and then run over to the petshop to grab some treats for Marley - our Peruvian guinea pig. So, I told the guys I’d go over to Starbucks and then meet them at the petshop two doors down.

Nick and Gary walk into the petshop and check out the puppies, and then head to the guinea pig tank.

“Nick, look. What is that? The whoolly one. What kind is that?”

“I don’t know,” says Nick as he reaches in and tries to catch the whoolly critter. All of the pigs are running round and round in circles, fearing for their little lives as the giant hand chases them around the tank. Okay - granted - Nick’s charm doesn’t extend to the animal kingdom.

Over in the corner of the store, Nick and Gar are being watched by a young, store employee (whom we’ll dub the Pet Hitler).

Meanwhile, with coffee in hand, I walk into the petshop, and stop to look at the puppies - a Jack Russell, Shitzu, and a Cockapoo. Nick sees me, and beckons me over to the guinea pig tank.

Walking over, Gar says “you have to see this little pig. It looks like a– like a sheep.”

“Aw, how cute. It’s so whoolly.” It was a little baby, and very much resembled a chinchilla. “I think it’s a teddy bear,” I say. (Teddy bear, or rex, is one variety of guinea pig, see picture at left.)

I reached in and picked up the little pig. Just then, Pet Hitler appears out of nowhere and starts yelling at me - telling me to put it back.

“You can’t pick them up. Don’t you see the sign? Keep your hands out of the tank?” (Mind you - I’ve been coming to this petshop for many years, and have always played with the pigs - taking them out and holding them.)

“We’ve got guinea pigs at the house, and have raised them for many years now. I think I know how to handle them.”

“You’re going to stress them out. Please put it back in the tank and keep your hands out. Read the sign.”

“I’m not stressing out the pig. You’re tone of voice is though.” Kid must not have been loved enough as a small child, I thought to myself.

“You can’t hold them….”

“What are you, the guinea pig gestapo?” I put whoolly back in the tank with his buddies, and continue. “Get a grip, kid. Where’s Lorraine (the store owner), she knows me.”

Meanwhile, Nick and Gar have their hands back in the tank and are - now vindictively - antagonizing the other pigs.

“Get your hands out of the tank!” Pet Hitler barks at Nick and Gar. Turning back to me, with a leering tone, he flatly announces “Lorraine’s right over there (pointing to another part of the store).”

“Fine, I’m gonna go talk to her.” Fuming at the way I’d been treated by a friggin’ kid, I instead walk over to the small pets aisle to pick up the treats and just leave.

Nick and Gar linger by the tank. Gar’s still got his hand in the tank - and Pet Hitler is still after him to stop.

“Just tell me what kind of pig is this?”

“Get your hands out of the tank.”

“Just answer my damned question.”

“You’re rude. I’ll answer your damned question when I’m ready.”

“You’re a real tough guy, aren’t you,” says Gar.

“No, I’m not.”

Nick is on the sidelines laughing his ass off at the exchange between his dad and Pet Hitler, ready to pee his pants. Realizing if they stay there’s gonna be trouble, they decide to leave the store.

At the same time, and with a change of heart, I put the treats back down and walk out of the store. Outside are Nick and Gar waiting for me. Laughing, they tell me about their conversation with Pet Hitler. And then we left - me vowing never to go back there again.

Nick and Gar think the kid’s got a future in animal control. I fathom the thought.

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