Sacked!

by Melinda De Ross

  “Sure,” I said, but then thought better of it. Were dinosaurs on the loose eating humans better or worse than Die Hard?

  “Um, would your mother let you watch this before bed?”

  He gazed at me down his little nose. “I love dinosaurs. I have a mechanical T-Rex in my room. We went to the museum to see them. She just bought the movies for me.”

  If his mother indulged his love of dinosaurs—and what kid didn’t love the giant reptiles—how could this be bad?

  “All right then. Let’s have it.”

  “I’ll do it.” He raced back to the living room and replaced the DVD in the Blu-Ray player faster than I could’ve done it, then turned to me. “Can we have some popcorn?”

  Corinne had said no chips, but she hadn’t mentioned popcorn, and what was a movie without popcorn?

  “Can you make it?” I asked, not sure where Corinne kept her snacks.

  He gave me a superior look, the kind one usually reserved for those beneath their contempt.

  “Of course. I’m not a baby. You put the package into the microwave oven, set the timer, and wait.”

  “Really?” I mimicked his haughty sarcasm. “Then let’s do it.”

  A few minutes and a lot of popping later, we sprawled on the couch, side by side, with the bowl of popcorn between us and the lights turned down low, ready to let Master Spielberg entertain us. We munched away, licking our buttery fingers from time to time, as the movie got into the action.

  “Look at that,” I said, annoyed at the actress with a bigger bra size than IQ. “Isn’t that just the most idiotic stunt ever? Does she really think it’s a good idea to test the quality of T-Rex’s parenting skills? She makes me want to slap her upside the head. Not the sharpest pencil in the case.”

  “Mommy says hitting people isn’t nice. You would have to go in timeout.”

  “Sorry,” I muttered, reminded that I needed to engage my brain before opening my mouth. “I just get frustrated when people don’t think things through.” As if I ever did. “I think visiting an island inhabited only by dinosaurs isn’t the brightest thing to do.”

  He looked at me, his small head cocked to the side, his mouth full of popcorn.

  “It’s not real, Camilla.”

  “I know that, but when you think about it, the entire premise of the movie is flawed. Only humans would be idiotic enough to try and recreate those creatures in the first place. They’re extinct for a reason.”

  Andrew seemed to consider my rant.

  “I saw a dinosaur skeleton. It was bigger than our house.”

  “See? My point exactly. No one should mess with such creatures. They were bigger and stronger, which means even the plant-eaters were dangerous.”

  On the screen, one of the protagonists—a man this time—had taken the baby T-Rex inside the trailer to treat its wounded leg. Not the smartest move as far as I was concerned, but hey, what did I know? Of course, the infant’s screams attracted its parents, who weren’t happy to find their offspring in the company of humans.

  “Uh-oh. Mommy’s here,” Andrew whispered, then gave a shriek as an enormous dinosaur made its appearance, letting out a roar that reverberated off the walls.

  “Yeah. And daddy will be right along,” I said, between munches. “He’s just stuck in traffic. Eww, that dinosaur has serious dental hygiene problems,” I remarked, as Papa T-Rex opened his mouth displaying rows of razor-sharp teeth. “Isn’t that nice? They’re sharing the snack.”

  Andrew’s eyes bulged. “That was a mean thing to say. He was one of the good guys. How come you’re not sorry the dinosaur ate him?”

  I spared him a glance in the flickering light.

  “Hey, any person who’s stupid enough to get himself in that sort of trouble deserves to be T-Rex food. I’ll bet even your mother would agree with me.”

  Man, was I wrong! Corrine’s tongue-lashing when she came home and caught Andrew and I watching The Lost World—half an hour past his bedtime—probably broke a new decibel level. It seemed she’d bought the movies for Dan, not Andrew as I’d been led to believe.

  I tried to talk my way out of it, defend what deep down I knew had been a poor parenting choice, blaming Andrew for misleading me, but as she put it—which one of us was the adult?

  I should’ve known better. We’d tried to assure her he wouldn’t get nightmares, but try telling that to the mother of a five-year-old who apparently frequently suffered from bad dreams. I’d been taken in, hook, line, and sinker. She was worse than that Mama T-Rex. I was just lucky Dan couldn’t wait for me to leave, or he would’ve been on my case, too.

  Scratch nanny to princess from my career choices.

  Chapter Three

  The next morning I woke up with a dull headache, probably the result of all the ice cream I’d consumed the previous day.

  I crawled out of bed and dragged myself under the shower. A few minutes later, feeling more alive if not less depressed, I sat down at the kitchen table with a mug of strong coffee. Actually, I should rephrase that to a mug of strong cream judging by the amount I usually put in the mug.

  I rifled through my supply of frozen breakfast pastries and chose a bagel, thawed it in the microwave, and then toasted it. After slathering it in peanut butter, I took it and my coffee into the living room. Sitting crossed legged on the sofa, dressed only in my fluffy pink robe, I allowed myself to consider my current situation.

  It felt strange not to be stuck in traffic on my way to work at this hour, and that wasn’t altogether bad. Maybe I needed to consider a career where I could sleep in past six every now and then. I sighed. Looking for a new career would take time. Right now I had to focus on the bottom line. I’d pretty much lived paycheck to paycheck, so my saving’s account was in dismal condition. Whether I liked it or not, I needed to find a job, and at the moment, the pet store was the only prospect on my horizon.

  After breakfast, I went into the bedroom and dug through my closet. Jeans and a white V-neck t-shirt seemed a perfect outfit to visit the pet store Anna had mentioned. If they did take a chance on me, I could save money on dress clothes and dry cleaning. I wouldn’t need my designer suits to clean up parrot poop, or whatever else they would ask me to do.

  I swiped mascara over my lashes, applied lip gloss, and brushed my hair, pulling it back into a ponytail. I nodded at my reflection. I looked efficient and professional—an excellent disguise.

  I drove toward Anna’s parents’ house with the windows down and the CD player blasting. It was a little past nine, and the morning air still wore a trace of the night’s coolness. Traffic was light, so it took me less than twenty minutes to get across town. The pet shop was on the east side of the street between a pizza place and a pharmacy. There was a free parking spot near the sidewalk, so I squeezed the Beetle between two other cars, grabbed my bag, and climbed out.

  The pet store was quite large with floor to ceiling windows, currently undecorated, and a set of glass doors. A sign was pasted in one of the windows: PET SHOP ASSISTANT WANTED. That title was fancier than I’d expected, but since I really needed this job, I hoped it didn’t involve anything too complicated. Taking a deep breath, I plastered a smile on my face, approached the automatic doors, and stepped inside.

  The interior was cool and smelled like the zoo—not the most pleasant aroma I could imagine. I swallowed awkwardly. They sold a hell of a lot more than birds in here. There were dozens of cages sheltering hamsters, gerbils, white mice, rabbits, every bird imaginable, turtles and other reptiles, including a couple of snakes, as well as kittens and puppies. On the opposite wall were dozens of fish tanks. At the back of the store were shelves loaded with animal food, toys, collars, and other gizmos and gadgets I couldn’t identify.

  On one side, at the front was a small counter. Two girls, who couldn’t possibly be twenty years old, fussed around a computer. They both had brown hair twisted into schoolgirl braids, brown eyes, and the rosy cheeks specific to people who spent a lot of their time outdoors. They w
ore identical red t-shirts.

  “Hi,” I said, approaching them. “I saw the sign in the window. Can you tell me more about the job?”

  They turned as one, both evaluating me, their gazes measuring me from head to toe.

  One of them asked, “Do you have any experience working in the animal retail business?”

  “No,” I muttered, “but I’m a quick learner, and I’m willing to do anything.”

  “If you’re willing to learn, there really isn’t all that much to it. It isn’t brain surgery. We put in twelve hour shifts, with a free day in between. We can only pay minimum wage, but you get high discounts on all products.”

  “Um… I don’t have a pet.”

  “Nor will you want one after working here,” the other girl mumbled in a tired voice.

  “Don’t mind Christy. She had a bad night. Come on, let me show you around. Today is cleaning day, so we could use a hand.”

  I blinked. “Do you mean I’m hired? Just like that?”

  The girl shrugged. “If you want the job, yes. I’m Shauna, by the way, the Assistant Manager. We can take care of the employment forms later.”

  I followed her through the shop, still in a daze, listening as she explained what I was going to do and pointed out the animals. There were dozens of them, and I felt sorry for them crammed in those cages. A parrot, his eyes sad, watched me through the bars.

  Suddenly, I wasn’t sure I could work in this environment. These animals should be free, living in their native lands, shouldn’t they? But then my commonsense kicked in. If that happened, there wouldn’t be a store, and I wouldn’t have a job. I’ve always been good at rationalizing. I wanted a cat or a dog someday, but only once I had a house and a big yard. Still, the idea of a lizard, mouse, or snake as a pet didn’t thrill me, but what could I say? To each their own.

  “This here is Mister Happy,” Shauna said when we reached a plexiglass panel. Behind it, a rather large white Persian cat frowned at us. He didn’t look at all happy.

  “He’s the most bad-tempered cat I’ve ever come across, so you have to be careful when you empty his litter box and brush him.”

  “Brush him?” I repeated, eying the cat, watching me with hostile copper eyes.

  “Yeah. He’s sort of the store’s mascot, so he’s not for sale. The owner’s on extended vacation, and he’s boarding him with us. He needs to be brushed once a week, and he hates it. The kittens and puppies are really sweet, so you won’t have problems there,” she said, pointing lower to another compartment where a few puppies sat or played with chew toys, while calico kittens wrestled in another one.

  I nodded, not as sure of myself as I’d been earlier. From what I could see, there was a lot of poop to clean.

  Shauna led me back to the front and along the wall of fish tanks. And I would need to clean these, too? This job was worth a hell of a lot more than minimum wage, but I was desperate. So were they apparently since they were hiring me like this.

  “These are simple to take care of,” she said, pointing to the aquariums. “Once a week you clean the filters, take out about a third of the water and replace it with fresh water. You feed the fish twice a day, each with their own specific food. The names of the species and their requirements are written under the tanks. The only difficult part is when a customer wants a specific fish and you have to catch it. That could take some time and work, but it can be fun, too. You’ll get used to it.”

  “Right. What are those?” I asked, pointing to several bowls each containing a single fish. Some were blue, others red, and a few were almost purple. A couple of the bowls had peace lilies growing out of them, the roots hanging down like worms into the water.

  “Those are Betta fish. They’re the most popular because they’re extremely resilient and easy to take care of. They don’t tolerate any other fish within reach, except when it’s mating time. See?” She took one of the bowls and brought it closer. “When they’re ready to mate, they make these bubbles at the surface.”

  The bowl in question was full of bubbles, and the occupant, a red, fluffy-looking thing, was eyeballing me with interest. I didn’t blame him, poor thing, all alone in that small space. I hadn’t had a date in months either, and lately I was beginning to throw coquettish glances at my vibrator.

  Shauna put the bowl back and turned to me. “So, what do you think?”

  I chewed my bottom lip. “Well, I need a job. If you want me to, I can start right away. This doesn't seem too difficult.”

  Two hours later, I was ready to swallow my words. After cleaning the tanks and washing dozens of filters full of fish crap, I stunk like a swamp. My white t-shirt had a dozen different stains on it—some I couldn’t even identify. Shauna promised to provide me with a uniform tomorrow, a simple red t-shirt and pants, like she and Christy wore. The girl had cleaned the reptiles and some of the larger animal cages, leaving the others for me, so I could learn—at least that was the excuse she gave. I was amazed by the quantity of poop a single parrot could produce, and it took everything in me not to run away when I had to attend to the army of hamsters and white mice. Thank God, Shauna had looked after the snakes herself. Watching her feed them mice had made my skin crawl.

  Finally, it was time to attend to Mister Happy who didn’t look any more joyful than he had earlier. I approached him cautiously, trying not to startle him. I opened the door slowly.

  “Hey, kitty, kitty. Aren’t you a pretty boy?”

  I reached out a hand to him, moving cautiously as he stared at me unblinking. His whiskers twitched and his delicate pink nose quivered as he sniffed at my fingers. I held my breath for several seconds, and to my surprised delight, he briskly bumped his nose against my palm in a gesture of grudging acceptance.

  “Oh, aren’t you a darling?” I whispered, stroking the furry head, which rubbed against my hand. “We’ll get along just fine.”

  I quickly emptied the litter box and replaced its contents with fresh clay pellets, then came back with a brush. As I proceeded to caress his white, immaculate fur, the cat purred, appearing to enjoy my efforts. Shauna and Christy came to watch in amazement.

  “Wow! I can’t believe you tamed the beast,” Christy marveled. “He doesn’t like anyone.”

  “Anyone but me,” I said smugly, as Mister Happy rolled over, exposing his fluffy tummy to be brushed. “I have a magic touch with—Holy crap! What’s that?” I pointed to the cat’s lower belly where a small pink worm-like thing protruded.

  The girls burst out laughing, collapsing against one another, tears in their eyes. What was so funny?

  “Boy, you really don’t know much about animals, do you?” Shauna said when she could breathe again. “That’s his penis.”

  My eyes nearly bugged out of my head as I leaned closer, studying the tiny reddish pink protuberance. “You’re joking right? You’re making fun of me. Why would he show me that?” What was it about strange men showing off their equipment to me? “It can’t be that small!”

  They both chuckled.

  “Don’t say that in front of him. You’ll hurt his feelings,” Christy said. “Obviously, he’s enjoying your tender ministrations. But, for the record, all cat penises look like that. Besides, they’re barbed.”

  “They’re what?” My eyes had to be the size of Mister Happy’s food dish.

  “Barbed. They have tiny spikes on them, to better stick to the walls of the vagina during mating.”

  My jaw slack, I shook my head, my sympathies going out to all lady cats. I held the brush with two fingers. That was all the tenderness Mister Happy would get from me today. The cat, oblivious to our conversation, rolled over majestically and proceeded to wash his penis and balls.

  Ten hours later, I dragged myself home with a headache, sore feet, a small pizza, and a Betta fish. Since my mother was a clean freak, I’d never had the luxury of having pets as a kid. But there was something endearing about the little indigo fish with staring eyes and large, vaporous fins, which compelled me to take him hom
e. Also known as Siamese fighting fish, Bettas were solitary creatures, who couldn’t stand any permanent company, not even a mate’s.

  “This is something we have in common, Fish,” I said, carefully placing the bowl on a living room shelf atop my loaded bookcase.

  Someday, I might get him one of the fancy bowls with the plant, but for now he seemed comfortable enough in this. I put my bag on the couch, took out the small box of fish food and sprinkled a few granules into the bowl. Apparently, his stomach was the size of his eye, so he couldn’t eat a lot at once.

  Fish—that was the unimaginative name I’d picked for him—immediately came to the surface, wiggling his fins and veil-tail like a dog, greedily devouring the granules. I laughed, delighted, and gently tried to stroke the fragile body with the tip of one finger. He inched away, but not in fright. It seemed more a sort of flirty shyness.

  I let him be and, after removing my clothes in the bathroom and dumping them into the hamper, I got under the shower, where steam rose from the hot water. I scrubbed myself thoroughly to remove any stains and smells of animal origins. I shampooed my hair twice. When I was as pink as a baby, I turned off the taps and began toweling myself. I dried my hair until it was only slightly damp, then padded to the kitchen. After filling up on warm pizza, I zombie-walked to my bedroom. I was asleep before my head hit the pillow.

  * * *

  The next day was my first official day off, so I slept until ten. This schedule wasn’t too bad, I decided as I lazily climbed out of bed. I fed Fish, who seemed to have been waiting for me, lifting his nose out of the water. He’d built an impressive nest of bubbles as a sign that he was ready for romance, but unfortunately for him, mating wasn’t an option.

  “I know it’s unfair to you, buddy,” I said, “but that’s life. You can give up making bubbles for the moment. Besides, from what I’ve read, if I bought a girlfriend for you, you’d screw her and then eat her. Aggressive little prick, aren’t you?”