The Adventures Of Cowboy And Chihuahua

(I am nineteen, working in a popular pizza chain. There is no dining room, so it’s delivery or carry-out only. An animated, cowboy-looking man staggers in with a Chihuahua in his arms.)

Cowboy: “I got an order for [Cowboy].”

Me: “I’ve got that right here. That’ll be [total].”

(At this point, the man sets the Chihuahua down right on our front counter, and it immediately begins running up and down all over our foodservice counter while he gets his money.)

Me: “Sir? Your dog got free…”

Cowboy: “He’s fine. Just curious.”

Me: “…”

Cowboy: “Here, I’ll get the little guy. Can you help carry my pizza to my car?”

Me: *wanting him out* “Absolutely!”

(We walk out to a large SUV and he gestures to the passenger seat.)

Cowboy: “Just right in there.”

(I’m thinking that the dog will soon be climbing all over the pizza, too, when I open the door to find six empty bottles of Jim Beam bourbon in the footwell. We’re talking all bottles a pint or larger.)

Cowboy: “Thanks for the help!”

(He goes careening out of the parking lot, tires squealing. I head back inside.)

Me: *to manager* “He let that dog run all over our counter, and his car is full of empty liquor bottles. Should we maybe call the police?”

Manager: “I already pulled him up on the computer. He only lives three blocks away. I don’t know why he didn’t walk. He should be fine.”

Me: *pause* “I’m going to go sanitize the counter now.”