Last week, while grocery shopping, my wife was accosted by a Blue Buffalo representative in the dog food aisle. Maybe it was the long day, the first week of back to school, or that thin, surreal peace of after the kids finally go to sleep — but the story cracked me up.
I begged her for details so that I could write them down. She insists it’s not a story worth telling anyone except me, and she may be right, but I think it’s a wonderful little amuse-bouche of dog food drama.
“Fine,” she says with resignation. “You know, you call me standoffish, but I’ve just experienced a number of strange encounters with other humans lately that make me not want to engage with anyone!”
She pauses for dramatic effect.
“It was like she came out of the rafters.”
“I was alone in the aisle, pausing the cart with our daughter in the front basket, just us. No one else. I reached for the can of Blue Buffalo, and the woman MATERIALIZED.”
“She was wearing a Blue Buffalo shirt and a Blue Buffalo nametag, and she said, “Oh you’re buying Blue Buffalo, somebody’s a lucky dog!”
“Except she said it like this, in this creepy, witch-like, excited voice, like, “SoMeBodY’s a LUCKY dOg!”
“She was scraggly, really frail, gray hair. Her teeth different shapes and sizes.”
“We were just buying dog food.”
She pauses here, shaking her head. Then she runs over the scene again.
“Was she hiding in the shelves? Was she camoflaged? Suddenly she was right there, at my height, right next to me.”
“Then she started rambling on about some special type of Blue Buffalo food. If she wasn’t wearing that badge, I wouldn’t even think she was a representative, that’s how insane it was. I would think she was just some kind of a Blue Buffalo fanatic.”
“Then she asked, with my permission, “WHO WATCHES YOUR DOG WHEN YOU GO ON VACATION?”
“I just said we take the dog with us and walked away. “
“How did you say it?” I ask.
“Just like that. Firmly. We take the dog with us. Like, was she a brand ambassador or some kind of dog babysitter?”
“When you buy Alpo, your dog just gets a rotgut stomach that can digest Brillo pads. When you buy the three-dollars-a-can bougie bullshit, your dog gets a stalker.”