Back In Business

As they say, there is no rest for the wicked.

Upon returning from my state of illness caused by an unsanitary barista, I made my way back to the Sears Customer Service Desk.

Even though I was gone for over two weeks, some things just never change.

It appears as though in my absence, the fine “people” in Doolittle, MO decided to gain a cursory knowledge of their own bodies and sense of style.

“Gee, Herk, I don’t think anyone returned a single thing in the past 2 weeks!” said my ‘superior’, Eugene Screely, as he sauntered past the customer service desk with no less than ten miscreants and misanthropes looking to exchange or return their ill-begotten purchases.

I know it seems ludicrous but one might surmise that the masses, in fact, WAITED for me to return from my sabbatical to waddle down to the Doolittle Shopping Center.

As if the volume of these monsters wasn’t enough, the sheer idiocy made me sick to my stomach. I would’ve preferred eating another pastry from that dirty barista at this point!

I digress..

A particularly gruesome couple made their way up to my counter with what appeared to have once been a bread maker. It was hard to make out its exact purpose after these two got their chubby hands on it. Burn marks, scratches and, what appeared to be the faintest smear of stool…human or otherwise.

When I asked these geniuses of humanity what the problem was, they laid one hell of a story on me.

“Well,” said Terry, “our bloodhound, Cooter, had gave birth to a buncha’ pups…and, well…we needed a place to store some.”

“That explains the fecal matter and scratch marks,” I replied, “but, what about the charred portions ‘here’ and… ‘here’?”

Not only did these morons decide it to be a good idea to house a litter of puppies inside the Derk Brand UltraBread200, they thought it would be a BETTER idea to forget about the puppies for a week. During this week, their dumbed-down version of a child decided to make some bread…without peering into the cavity of the Derk Bran UltraBread200.

I shant explain any further.

My only saving grace is that my pet ferret, Mindaugus, will have my tea and latest copy of The New Yorker ready for me when I return home.

Life in Doolittle should only be so simple…