Wednesday, September 08, 2004
One Fish, Two Fish
To start off today's entry, I would like to share a glimpse of our bachelor weekend white water rafting extravaganza. Here is a picture of us braving the rapids. You may notice that most of us have the expression of a person who has just smelled some bad milk, except Hufton, who is smiling like he just won a shopping spree at Barnes & Noble. This is a picture of us in a slightly less glorious moment, and, just to prove a point, here is the guide I claimed to look like Danny Bonaduce and here is the actual Danny Bonaduce.
Our fish have had it rough for the past week. Their water was getting low and the only food in the "Breakfast/Lunch/Dinner/Treat" food container was in the "treat" compartment, so I had been feeding them that for a few days. As Brendan said, if they were kids, they'd be taken away from us by protection agency. As it stands, however, they are fish, so there will be no foster fish, because they're staying put. To remedy this fish situation (Note: "Fish Situation" makes for a great tongue-twister) Brendan filled the tank and I went to the pet store to get fish food. I got in line to buy the food and I watched as the cashier rung up one of the people in front of me. As a man stepped up to the register with his dog food and a leash, the cashier, an early 20-something kid with black nail polish, seemed to take interest.
Cashier Guy: What kind of a dog do you have?
Dog Man: Black Lab.
Cashier Guy: Great!
Hmm. This guy seems a little too enthusiastic for a pet store worker. The woman that was next in line approached the register with her cat food.
Cashier Guy: What's your cat's name?
Cat Lady: Sammy.
Cashier Guy: Great!
I saw a trend and became worried about what he might ask me. What could I say if he asked for the name of my fish? Could I admit that we only refer to them by species and had not given them names like 99.9% of all other pet owners do? What if he asks what kind of fish we have and I tell him and he questions my food choice and says "the only thing worse than feeding them that would be feeding them from the 'treat' compartment for a week!" I stepped up to the register and prepared for the moment of truth.
Cashier Guy: What size tank do you have?
Doh! I should've seen it coming. I think Brendan said it was 50 gallons. That seems pretty big though. It would be a shame to say something unreasonable.
Brian: Uh, oh. What size tank? I think it's like, uh. Maybe 40 gallons? I'm not even positive. It's for my roommate. I mean, it's his tank, so I don't even know for sure.
Cashier Guy: Here's your receipt.
With one unnecessarily panicked, drawn out, and rambling answer, I had managed to sap the young cashier of his natural enthusiasm and temporarily made him forget his passion for pets, their food, and the novelty toys they love. The End.
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Our fish have had it rough for the past week. Their water was getting low and the only food in the "Breakfast/Lunch/Dinner/Treat" food container was in the "treat" compartment, so I had been feeding them that for a few days. As Brendan said, if they were kids, they'd be taken away from us by protection agency. As it stands, however, they are fish, so there will be no foster fish, because they're staying put. To remedy this fish situation (Note: "Fish Situation" makes for a great tongue-twister) Brendan filled the tank and I went to the pet store to get fish food. I got in line to buy the food and I watched as the cashier rung up one of the people in front of me. As a man stepped up to the register with his dog food and a leash, the cashier, an early 20-something kid with black nail polish, seemed to take interest.
Cashier Guy: What kind of a dog do you have?
Dog Man: Black Lab.
Cashier Guy: Great!
Hmm. This guy seems a little too enthusiastic for a pet store worker. The woman that was next in line approached the register with her cat food.
Cashier Guy: What's your cat's name?
Cat Lady: Sammy.
Cashier Guy: Great!
I saw a trend and became worried about what he might ask me. What could I say if he asked for the name of my fish? Could I admit that we only refer to them by species and had not given them names like 99.9% of all other pet owners do? What if he asks what kind of fish we have and I tell him and he questions my food choice and says "the only thing worse than feeding them that would be feeding them from the 'treat' compartment for a week!" I stepped up to the register and prepared for the moment of truth.
Cashier Guy: What size tank do you have?
Doh! I should've seen it coming. I think Brendan said it was 50 gallons. That seems pretty big though. It would be a shame to say something unreasonable.
Brian: Uh, oh. What size tank? I think it's like, uh. Maybe 40 gallons? I'm not even positive. It's for my roommate. I mean, it's his tank, so I don't even know for sure.
Cashier Guy: Here's your receipt.
With one unnecessarily panicked, drawn out, and rambling answer, I had managed to sap the young cashier of his natural enthusiasm and temporarily made him forget his passion for pets, their food, and the novelty toys they love. The End.
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