You and your damned dog

09 Apr

Pull your head out of your ass, thats all I’m saying.

I love dogs, don’t get me wrong.

But they are domesticated wolves, let’s not lose sight of that.

But people have a tendency to attribute human intelligence and emotions to them.

You read things on the internet that they have the intelligence of the average third grader.

What an insult to the dog.

The comparing them to a human part.

Dogs are brilliant in their own right, but in a different ballpark.

Why do I give a shit about this today?

Because there is currently a standoff at Starbucks.

On the one side, is the diligent Starbucks employee.

The “Just doing his job” guy.

And not like the Nazi soldier type.

And on the other side?

A ninety year old woman and her little dog.

I like French bulldogs, but this one looks like a little shit.

Or maybe I am transposing my dislike of the old woman onto the dog.

Either way, she wants to bring her dog into the Starbucks.

The employee, a diligent earner of minimum wage for the Starbucks Evil Empire, stopped her before she got more than a few feet thru the door.

“You can’t bring the dog in here, Maam.”

It was polite, informative and had a touch of apology that will work with 99% of the population.

Stuff that polite shit back up your own ass, she’s not having it.

“My dog is too old to be outside by himself!” I would say she hissed, but the word hissed doesn’t carry enough shitty venom for the words.

This would be a legitimate argument if we were in a Starbucks in Detroit in the dead of winter during a snow storm.

However, we are in Hermosa Beach, California right at the end of winter, on a sunny day, mid 70’s, blue skies, in a fairly high dollar neighborhood.

In other words, her argument is bullshit.

Finally, the manager makes an appearance.

I am routinely disappointed by Starbucks management.

They scurry around like scared rats, avoiding confrontation and usually trying to pass themselves off as employees.

The manager in Manhattan Beach often tells customers that “His boss” wants this or that, as if he is just relaying orders from the Starbucks version of the great and powerful Oz.

This manager is a little more direct.

You just can’t hear her is all.

I was sitting 6 feet away, and I could barely make out a word.

Her opening sentence contained the words “Corporate” once and “Policy” twice.

And if you want to seriously start a granny-panty-twist with a ninety year old woman, tell her no about anything concerning her dog.

Her first response is a classic, something from a 1940’s movie staring Betty Davis.

“How DARE you!”

The setting is uncomfortable and beautiful.

I am half expecting Spencer Tracy to come thru the door and make all things right.

He doesn’t show up and we only have the now-stuttering manager with laryngitis.

Central casting is really letting me down here.

And then the guy in the corner jumped in.


I used caps because, while he was not shouting, his voice could be heard clearly in every square inch of the building.

There is now a really uncomfortable bubble of existence in Starbucks.

The guy is mid-twenties and has just enough of an unintentionally sloppy look to him that I am torn between the judgment of him being a drug guy or just a little crazy.

Possibly both.

He follows this up with leaning out of his chair and clapping his hands together at the dog.


Each clap scares the dog further to the door and although the dog only weighs about 10-20 pounds, he is taking the old woman with him.

The manager is having an intestinal issue, judging by the look on her face.

She is trying in vain to shut him down and maintain some sort of control over the situation.

The old lady is done, the dog is her Achilles heel. She HAS to go.

She skitters out the door and pouts in the patio for a moment.

The manager disappears, presumably before someone starts clapping at her.

And the guy goes back to his dog-eared book.

And all is right with the world.


Posted by on April 9, 2012 in Uncategorized


2 responses to “You and your damned dog

  1. thomas camoin

    April 9, 2012 at 8:15 am

    nice one. although having lived in europe for years, where there are restaurants where you can bring in your dog but not your child, i tend to have a little more simpathy for the old lady.

  2. LaVicki

    April 9, 2012 at 12:31 pm

    Joey had a Frenchie… we named him Napoleon Dynamite…. ya know.. short man complex.. ahhhhhhhhh nope… his name was actually NAPOLEON FRICKEN’ DYNAMITE….. oh yeah we did!! He farted more than Joey did… and we used to tell Joey that he would have to switch breasts… as he was always holding that stinky (he just had a STANK to him on top of his uncontrollable up aiming farts) like a baby…… So – I say… what’s wrong with a dog like that going into Sbux.. hahahahah yeah RIEGHT!


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