I didn’t do anything I needed to do today. No laundry, no housework, and I sure as hell didn’t vacuum. I did go buy new running shoes, ORANGE ones! Yay! I also spent a couple hours in one of those huge chain bookstores. The bookstore near my house in Virginia was a lot like a library; very quiet, lots of couches hidden among the stacks, and librarian-ish looking women behind the counter. Those women knew books; they could find me anything based on very little information. I spent a lot of money and time in there.
The one here is a big one chain store, and has a Starbucks right in the middle – it’s crowded and loud in there on a regular basis. It’s more like a nightclub in there minus the alcoholic beverages. Instead of drunken 20-somethings, you have overly caffeinated 20 somethings, which, in my opinion, is way worse. The baristas push dessert like waitresses in southern diners push sweet tea. Today, from order placement to order pick-up I was asked 3 times if I didn’t want a cookie or a scone or something, honey? The nice part is they let you pay for your book purchases right along with your tea. Nice.
I think about what it takes to take on the task of writing a book often, and wonder what it would be like go into a book store and see your book there.
Today, while perusing the staff recommendations, top sellers, and discount tables, I became convinced the only thing between me (or anyone) writing a book is the actual commitment to *do* it. There was actually a book in there called “Stuff on My Cat” and it was just that, pictures of some poor kitty with whip cream and cherries, guacamole, and every other imaginable horror on him. Just on him. No real text, no story, just some poor warped woman who spent an afternoon dressing her cat up like a stinkin’ appetizer.
Had I known, this kind of shit would sell; my book would be a chronicle of my former life as an anesthesia nurse in a veterinary referral hospital and would be called. “Stuff I took out of your pet.”
Right now, stop reading
Think of something you own that you’re sure your pet would never eat (exclude the absurdly obvious things like your refrigerator) or think of something that would be embarrassing, an illegal substance or perhaps something exposing a sexual proclivity. Oh yeah, those things.
Now, know that I’ve seen them all.
Granny panties, lacy, racy thongs, socks, condoms, tampons, *ahem* toys, little army men (10 in one dog), spiderman action figure (only missing 1 hand), blind pulls, mulch (a pound), sewing needles (still threaded), bottle caps, gravel, a hundred nails, the stuffing to two couch cushions (yes all of it); the contents of a 5 gallon salsa jug; 2 pounds of starburst candy; remote controls, cell phones, Christmas ornaments, Christmas light bulbs, insulation, drywall, tire treading; yeah, all that.
Or, the tearful lady who brought her 9 month old chocolate lab in shaking, unbalanced, panting, and trying to eat the carpet. Key to this story is that this was a referral hospital, so she was sent to us from a GP who couldn’t figure out what was wrong with the puppy. Specifically sent to my department, neurosurgery. So, Dr. Cowboy and I go in the room and examine the dog – which is a little like wresting a hungry alligator. The dog is hitting on all the neurology cylinders, his reflexes are wonky, his eyes are moving involuntarily dependent on position, his gait is off, everything is just wrong. Dr. Cowboy and I leave the room to call about scheduling an MRI for the dog, while the owner takes a call from her roommate.
Dr. Cowboy and I go back in the room to find the dog so soundly asleep I couldn’t rouse him. Alarmed, we took him back to the critical care unit. I go back to explain to the owner what’s going and she closes the door and explains to me that her roommate had called to tell her that his weed is lost. Apparently this was a large amount. Guess who found it?
I worked in that field for 15 years. I’m just betting I could beat “stuff on my cat” up the best seller list.