Dear Cashier Lady,
I don’t know your name, but I know one thing: I love you.
Every time I arrive at your house, the pet store, my face does this.
I’ll admit it wasn’t love at first sight. Instead, it was something much more powerful and honest. It was love at first treat.
I’ll never forget the first time you gave me a treat. You were putting all of our toys and presents in big bags, and out of nowhere, you leaned over and gave me a biscuit. And that’s when I knew: this was no ordinary cashier lady. This was: Cashier Lady! Capital C, Capital L. Exclamation point!
I barely even remember my sister nearly ruining our moment.
You get me in a way that no other cashier ever has. You understand what I want and what I need. You understand my incessant yearning for treats. And for that, I love you.
Before you, there were a couple of newbies at the register. They were fine, sure, but they did not — could not — comprehend my desire for treats. I would jump and whimper for snacks, I would stare at them, I would even drool all over the floor. But those cashiers never noticed. They would just hand my parents big bags and say “Next customer!” Imagine that — ordinary people doing their job and ignoring a handsome, hungry Pug like me.
But you get it. You know my philosophy is “No treat left behind.” You knew that without me ever having to tell you.
True, I couldn’t have told you even if I wanted to, because we don’t speak the same language, but that’s not the point. In fact that makes it even more impressive. We understand each other in a way that transcends words. It’s like you can read my mind, and you hear the one word banging around inside my brain: TREAT. TREAT. TREAT.
You know me better than anyone. For example, you know I love peanut butter biscuits AND salmon-flavored jerky. You know I CAN’T choose between the two, no matter HOW badly Mom wants to get a move on with the rest of her errands.
As if there were any other errand more important than seeing the one you love. As if one could even consider love an “errand.” Perhaps it’s a fool’s errand, and I’m the fool. Well that’s fine, because… I’m a fool for you, Cashier Lady, and the treats you always so lovingly given to me.
When I trot into your store, Cashier Lady, I know you’ll be there. As I stride down the aisles with my sister and Mom in tow, I feel the suspense of seeing you. I wonder, should I select a gift to present to you when we reach your register?
Hey, hey, what are these? Mom pronounces it “Wee Wee.” Wee Wee? Surely she means Oui Oui.
Ah, French. The language of love. I’ll take 10! I’m sure you’ll get great use out of these, Cashier Lady. I sure do.
Perhaps you would like to share a delicious dessert from The Treatery?
And even if I eat, say, 80% of it, I know you’ll understand, Cashier Lady. You know better than anyone that love is all about sharing, even if that sharing results in an 80/20 breakdown. Love is love.
As we turn onto the bones aisle, I feel that my love knows no limits. For instance, even though I adore bones more than anything (even more than you, Cashier Lady, no offense), I am happy to give you one of the seven I have selected.
I bet you’ll love this bone. It’s an aggressive bacon flavor that immediately invades the nostrils and mouth. I think you’ll agree that it smells and tastes so much better than a bouquet of flowers!
As we near the register, I realize that we can’t express our love with material things, like toys and bones. Our love is so innocent and pure! Simply being in each other’s presence is a gift in and of itself! We don’t need toys and bones to show our love, Cashier Lady. I just need you to give me that treat at checkout, and we’ll be all good.
Now I see you at the register. It might as well be a throne; you look resplendent in your maroon vest and black apron. You radiate unique beauty as your hand extends towards me, a delicious treat cradled gently in your palm.
Ahhh. The taste of love. I hardly notice my sister trying to butt her way into our tender moment, as she always does.
But, like all things in life, the moment is fleeting. The treat is consumed, our items scanned, our bags packed. As my sister, my Mom and I head towards the exit, I must confess how I hate this long-distance relationship we share.
It is difficult. You’re not within walking distance. We see each other once a month. And the threat of Mom randomly trying out a different pet store hangs heavy in the air, thick and unwanted, like a smelly fart.
Certain things are beyond our control, but every second we share at the checkout when you give me a treat makes our love immortal.
I know that I will see you again, my beautiful Cashier Lady. I just know it.
Until next time, my love…
Don’t forget to have my treat waiting for me…
I’m sure you won’t forget, but I figure a friendly reminder can’t hurt…
I just really love those treats.
With love and affection,
Your Pug Prince
This has been another BarkPost Stink Piece, updated every week!