Sunday, July 20, 2008
A Wicked, Delightfully True Story
Here is a true story. This story has to be true because I don't know the names of all of the players, and it has no end. It is a friend of a daughter of a friend story, which makes it all the more true, though the details may be a little hazy. In any case, it is a wicked little story involving a young dance major in college in New York City, and a dog.
The dog, naturally, makes this a true story.
A young lady in NYC named Liz was hired by an older couple to watch their Golden Retriever while they vacationed in Europe. Her job was to trek across town to the couple's apartment to care for and feed their dog in between her class work at some university in NYC. Simple, right? Simple until she shows up on the second or third day and the dog is dead.
Unsure what to do, she ultimately calls the couple in Europe to deliver the bad news. They take it surprisingly well; after all, the dog is old, it was just his time to go, and so forth. Of course, they will pay her the original agreed-upon fee for her trouble, but could she please do one last thing: take care of the dog's remains.
Now at this point in the story, perhaps a little background on Liz is necessary. She is not from NYC; she is very petite; she is college-aged; she is a dance major. She has agreed to take care of a dead Golden Retriever's remains in a strange city, and even before she hangs up the phone she has already realized that she has no idea what to do with the dog. So she, in her infinite college-aged wisdom, decides to take the dog to a dumpster.
Concerned that the dog's owners' neighbors might have a problem with a strange, young girl hauling out the dead dog, much less with dumping the dog in their dumpster, she decides to haul the dog across town to her neighborhood where it might seem less suspicious. As luck would have it, the owners happen to have a goodly sized piece of luggage in the closet, properly sized for the job. She packs the dog in the suitcase and goes; comedy ensues.
Hauling the dog in the suitcase down the elevator and out into the street had to have been a funny enough sight, but she has to take the subway to get back across town. She lugs it down the stairs, through the turnstile, and manhandles the bag onto the subway car where she collapses into a seat, wondering just how much worse her day could get. Fortunately for her, a good looking guy sits near her, and they make eye-contact and begin talking. Things begin to look up.
In the course of their conversation (where, I might add, he asked for her number--wink, wink, nudge, nudge, say no more), he asked what was in the bag. Not wanting to say that she was lugging a dead dog in a valise across town to dump it in her alley, she said that she was carrying some heavy p.a. equipment for her friend who had a recital on the other side of town. It must have been a good save, too, for they clearly hit it off, and numbers were exchanged just before her stop came up.
She struggled to get the bag off the car, and he helped her get it out the door, and they waved good-bye. As she began to walk off, she heard him say, "Hey, Liz!" She turned, and he cold-cocked her, grabbed the suitcase, and ran. It was a classic mugging, and he got away scot-free.
And that is the end of the story. This does, however, beg the questions, what did he do when he got to wherever his lair may have been, and what happened to the dog?
And like all true stories, there are no real answers, only life lessons.
Poor dog.
The dog, naturally, makes this a true story.
A young lady in NYC named Liz was hired by an older couple to watch their Golden Retriever while they vacationed in Europe. Her job was to trek across town to the couple's apartment to care for and feed their dog in between her class work at some university in NYC. Simple, right? Simple until she shows up on the second or third day and the dog is dead.
Unsure what to do, she ultimately calls the couple in Europe to deliver the bad news. They take it surprisingly well; after all, the dog is old, it was just his time to go, and so forth. Of course, they will pay her the original agreed-upon fee for her trouble, but could she please do one last thing: take care of the dog's remains.
Now at this point in the story, perhaps a little background on Liz is necessary. She is not from NYC; she is very petite; she is college-aged; she is a dance major. She has agreed to take care of a dead Golden Retriever's remains in a strange city, and even before she hangs up the phone she has already realized that she has no idea what to do with the dog. So she, in her infinite college-aged wisdom, decides to take the dog to a dumpster.
Concerned that the dog's owners' neighbors might have a problem with a strange, young girl hauling out the dead dog, much less with dumping the dog in their dumpster, she decides to haul the dog across town to her neighborhood where it might seem less suspicious. As luck would have it, the owners happen to have a goodly sized piece of luggage in the closet, properly sized for the job. She packs the dog in the suitcase and goes; comedy ensues.
Hauling the dog in the suitcase down the elevator and out into the street had to have been a funny enough sight, but she has to take the subway to get back across town. She lugs it down the stairs, through the turnstile, and manhandles the bag onto the subway car where she collapses into a seat, wondering just how much worse her day could get. Fortunately for her, a good looking guy sits near her, and they make eye-contact and begin talking. Things begin to look up.
In the course of their conversation (where, I might add, he asked for her number--wink, wink, nudge, nudge, say no more), he asked what was in the bag. Not wanting to say that she was lugging a dead dog in a valise across town to dump it in her alley, she said that she was carrying some heavy p.a. equipment for her friend who had a recital on the other side of town. It must have been a good save, too, for they clearly hit it off, and numbers were exchanged just before her stop came up.
She struggled to get the bag off the car, and he helped her get it out the door, and they waved good-bye. As she began to walk off, she heard him say, "Hey, Liz!" She turned, and he cold-cocked her, grabbed the suitcase, and ran. It was a classic mugging, and he got away scot-free.
And that is the end of the story. This does, however, beg the questions, what did he do when he got to wherever his lair may have been, and what happened to the dog?
And like all true stories, there are no real answers, only life lessons.
Poor dog.
