Today, I am on my way to a meeting for work two hours or more away from my everyday workplace. A few coworkers and I are carpooling in a minivan...a minivan that has the odor of spoiled milk and children unfamiliar with the concept of a bath. Right now seems like the perfect time to utilize the blogging app on my phone. I have a lot of time to kill and I am hoping it will help me ignore the foul stench of misbehaved adolescents. Probably not, but a man can hope. It's either that or I listen to these guys talk about Food. I love food, don't get me wrong...it's just not something I can discuss for two hours while maintaining my sanity. Listening to my iPod is also helping, so I think I'll survive.
| These men represent America so well. |
So before I tell everyone this story, I'd like to preface it by saying that when it comes to gifts, I have been, am and always will be appreciative of everything I am given, no matter the size or cost. I truly value the thought behind each Gift more than anything else. Now this may sound contradictory, but I also believe that it is 'common courtesy' that when somebody does a favor or task for another person, especially one that spans several days and extra attention, that person should be rewarded for their effort. Again, I want to emphasize that it is not owed to the person, but everyone likes to know that their work is appreciated, and one way of doing that is to give something more than a handshake and a thank you. Anytime someone assists me in some way, I always find a way to make it up to them in return, whether it be paying for a lunch or dinner, a case of beer...whatever it may be, AND they will always have the promise from me that I will be glad to help them if and when they need it in the future. I want them to know that I am grateful for their service and I always will be.
Having said that, I'm gonna take you way back...back to when I was an adolescent. I don't recall exactly what age I was - likely in my preteen years - but that's only somewhat relevant to the story. My mom had a friend of hers that worked for an animal hospital/shelter back home in New York and any time they had an overflow of cats at the shelter, she would agree to take them home with her. Some of these cats required special medical attention, so she had no problem taking them in and giving them the necessary care from home. I'll get to the cat head count shortly, so brace yourself. She also had two dogs, both of which only had three legs. I can't make this shit up. This woman and her husband go to the NASCAR race in Daytona every February, and they needed someone to come by twice a day to feed and take care of the animals for a little over a week. The ones that needed medicine were left with pretty simple yet detailed instructions. They asked my mom if I could do it, and I said sure, no problem. That was a bit of a mistake.
So I get to this house, which I had been to before but had only been in the first floor, and I start to do the feeding and Litter box changing and whatever other tasks were required to be done. That's when all the cats came out. One after another running down the stairs, coming out of a bedroom, wherever they were hiding. Then I went upstairs to the special room that had all the sick and poorly behaved cats in it. Some of them wouldn't come out from hiding out of fear and some were sick enough that they couldn't come out. Altogether, I estimated there were about forty to forty-five cats in this house. So lets roll with forty...FORTY F'N CATS!! FORTY!! You want to talk about the proverbial cat-lady? This woman was, is and always will be the cat-lady.
| It was something along these lines. Plus the two three-legged dogs. |
So after the first two visits, I got into a bit of a routine, and what took me about an hour and a half those first couple times took merely thirty to forty-five minutes for the remaining visits. If I remember correctly, they were gone for either eight or nine days. That's eight or nine days of:
- Dry cat food - refilling empty bowls and cleaning the scattered bits
- Wet cat food - old stuff uneaten cleaned out, refilling with new stuff that smells like fishy vomit, adding any liquid medicine where necessary
- Cat litter - scooping what wasn't super full and gross, changing whole litter bags out when they made it a minefield of cat turds
- Cat vomit - the only thing positive here was they had hard wood floors, made for easier cleanup
- Dog maintenance - they were easy...let them out, refilled the food and water, no cleanup indoors (possible result of minimized motivation due to lack of a fourth limb...just sayin')
That's a lot to ask of anyone, let alone a kid. At the time, I didn't mind so much. I do enjoy animals and taking care of them (forty is a bit extreme for me, but I dealt with it), so I did what I had to do.
| Hell, the dogs were so easy to handle, if they had four legs, they'd probably be doing this as well...impressive. |
Then they came back from Daytona Beach, and my mom and I went to welcome them home and to return the keys. We dropped in, talked to them for a short time, and then got ready to get up and leave when they handed me a plastic bag. I waited to open it until after we left (part of me felt awkward opening it right in front of them, I don't know...) but made sure to thank them before leaving. Again, I want to emphasize I am always grateful for what is given to me, big or small. That 'thank you' I said to them was sincere, especially since I didn't know what it was until I had already left. Alright...I open the bag (your typical blank plastic shopping bag, either from a gift shop or an airport magazine shop) and I pull out a black t-shirt. Even at this point I'm still anxious to see what was on the shirt, so I open it up and it read "Daytona Beach" in faded yellow/tan.
That's when disappointment sunk in. There wasn't much thought put into what they got me; it felt more like they felt obligated to get something or they forgot until the last day of the trip and grabbed the first shirt they saw. In my mind, I was thinking that I would never half-ass taking care of her pets, whether she had four or forty...doesn't matter. I put honest effort into each step I needed to take to make sure that when I walked out the door, they were all fed and not left with a mountain of poop in their litter boxes. They thought enough to buy me a generic shirt out of what they felt to be an obligation. My only theory is they figured I was so young that I would be happy with any tangible gift and that I didn't understand the value of thoughtfulness.
| Yummyyy... |
Here are some facts for you to know after hearing this story:
- I still wear the shirt to this day. It no longer has sleeves because I washed it so many times, it began to tear at the pits, but it still exists.
- I still visited their home when my mom went over there and didn't act any differently toward them.
- This became a major reason I always put tons of thought behind each gift I give. I try to get creative and original because I never want to disappoint anyone with a gift I give them.
Some of you may think I'm an ungrateful asshole no matter what because of this story...you're entitled to your opinion. Before that day, this blog's title was simply a phrase to me. Then it became a reality. Come to think of it...if they had gotten me a shirt that said "I went to Daytona Beach and all I got was this lousy t-shirt" and that would have been hysterical to me. Oh well. Maybe you can sympathize. Then perhaps you're an asshole just like me.
At least you're in good company.
D.
