I was sitting at our local overpriced and wildly underwhelming Chinese restaurant, and Animal Planet was on in the background. It featured the designer who re-did spaces to exclusively cater to pets. One was about parrots, and the next was about a menagerie of animals and included an elaborate cage/tunnel system for the ferrets running all over the place (and IMHO they freaking stink and I would never want them shitting around my house.)
But then I suddenly remembered this woman I worked with, and she would talk about her ferrets all day. At the time, she had recently adopted three but one had developed a cold. I felt bad for her at first, and listened to her talk about how when it developed “a death rattle cough,” she knew it was the end. Then she proceeded to tell me that every ferret she had ever had, she took an impression of its foot in a mold and had them displayed around the house. I asked her what she did when they died, and she told me that they had each been cremated and kept organized in little shoe boxes, until she and her husband passed away so all their ashes could be mixed together. Hearing this, I felt a little relieved they had been cremated, because I started to have images of her house filled with taxidermied ferrets posed in different ways wearing little outfits. It seemed plausible with her. I would of. Unable to stop myself, I asked how many ferrets had currently departed for the great ferret hole in the sky. She said 32.
I shared this with our bar tender, and he said “Yeah. I get it. When I was a kid, my mom decided she was going to try and breed chinchillas. Unfortunately it didn’t work out, and they all died, and she figured she could have them used to make a pillow or something. But then she never got around to it, and we had three dead chinchillas in our freezer from the time I was in middle school to college. They were in there for a solid decade before my dad told her to either make her damn pillow or he was going to get rid of them himself. After that there was finally space in the freezer again. She never tried to breed them again though.”
I realized I’ve been selling myself short on creative possibilities recently, and am thinking of getting on board with the save-reuse-recycle movement. The possibilities are endless, I just need to go clear some freezer space.
This shit must have been gifted.
Did I leave the kettle one?
I could write a nice, flowery introduction but I’m just gonna jump in here.
Our Costco is right in front of the airport. As I was admiring some Bundt cakes while near a very large double decked pallet of marinara sauce, I started to get an ominous feeling of impending doom. I could hear the roar of a very close airplane engine coming overhead, and the entire store seemed to shake and rumble, at least in my head. If that plane misguided or crashed into the store, I realized I had absolutely no place to go. It’s a giant fucking open warehouse. I would be crushed to death by several hundred jars of lightly seasoned stewed tomato. EVERYTHING would become extremely deadly to be near. Granted, I would most likely be killed by the explosion of the plane first, but the idea of death by pasta sauce was disconcerting. When (I surmise) the plane safely landed in its proper and designated zone, I happened to look over at the vitamin section and noticed they sold wholesale 72 packs of Trojans. I mean, immediately my mind went to porn sets, or frat houses, or any party Condoleezza Rice was throwing, but that’s a lot of condoms to burn through. Although they would make fun valentines cards and you could write little messages on them in Sharpie. It might send the wrong message to elementary school kids, but maybe it wouldn’t? “You’re special Timmy! You exist because this didn’t! Happy Valentines!” That would also be a twisted birthday card.
After navigating the miserable checkout and auditing process that is required to exit the facility, we managed escape with our lives. I always feel violated after leaving that store. On the drive back I explained to Jason my concern over the imminent danger of an airplane crash at Costco. He looked at me blankly and said they he had never, in his life, ever even remotely considered that as a possibility. I told him he was welcome. However, he did offer that they could put on my epitaph “She died as she lived, with a 72 pack of Trojans in one hand and a Bundt cake in the other.”