Chapter 28

Mitch Webber pinged me today. The sign twirling Puppies for Less guy. He's back in the game, an office in Westwood, a parking space and health insurance. How?

Mitch: I was doing the sign thing and this guy pulls over, asks me, “Hey man, what kind of puppies do you sell?” I say, I don’t know, I’m just the sign guy, but if you come with me we can find out. We go to the store and he starts looking at puppies. He looks familiar. The clerk grabs a dachshund and he tries to get it to chase a ball. Then I figure out who this guy is, which is Tobin White, the Prime Time Logistics CEO. Whoa.

So I chat him up. I tell him dachshunds are no good. They shed like mad. He should get a doodle dog, especially if he has kids because doodles are hypoallergenic. The clerk grabs a Bernedoodle, and while he’s playing with it, I tell him who I am and he says, "you got big balls. Call me." I do and now I’ve got a 6-person team, Claude Team Premium, and a 1:1 with Tobin every other Thursday. All because I knew doodles are hypoallergenic.”

Okay, so I am now walking into Puppies for Less. F Staples. Cargo short losers work at Staples. This is my destiny. I can feel it.

The same lady is sitting behind the counter. Still bored. There are more puppies than last time. They look dejected. The place still smells like dog piss and desperation. I say, hey, I notice you haven’t replaced the sign guy.

She says, we need a rock star. I ask her what it pays and she says $18.42 an hour. But it’s going up to $18.47 on July first. I say, where do I sign up? She says, "Are you manually dexterous?" and whips a dog biscuit at me. I snatch it out of the air.

“Are you agile?” I say yes. She asks me to run in place.

I do and she whips another dog biscuit at me. I’m not sure what she’s going for. Catch it, dodge it, what? I dodge. She throws more. I evade them all.

“Bravo, sir.” She reaches behind the counter and hands me the sign. “You are our No. 1 draft pick.”

She hands me a costume. What’s this?

“Uniform,” she says. “The owners want to attract more attention.”

I shake the costume out. It’s got spots, white four-fingered Mickey Mouse hands and Mitch Webber’s body odor. There's a giant bulldog head attached. What?

“One size fits all,” she says. I now have second thoughts. Swinging a sign is one thing. In costume? Then I think of Mitch Webber sitting in his office churning out Slack messages.

There’s a mirror next to the cages. I put the bulldog costume on and check myself out. I can only see out of one eyehole. I look ridiculous. But also employed. A quote from St. Augustine comes to my mind.

“It was pride that changed angels into devils; it is humility that makes men as angels.”

I’m not feeling angelic. Still, I walk back over, grab the arrow sign off the counter. “I’m your boy.”

She says, “Great. I need $69.99 for the costume deposit.”

“Wait, I have to pay to work here?”

She shrugs.

I hand her my credit card.