Doggie Style

Chapter 1

Getting fired wasn't exactly a confidence booster. All week had I been facing hardship after hardship.

It began with a phone call from my dad Sunday morning; he called simply to ask me if I had enrolled in college yet, and when I told him I hadn't, he continued to lecture me for an hour. At twenty-years-old and living on my own, I had hoped I was done with being lectured about my future that I was apparently "throwing away" -- at least in my dad's mind. He wanted me to become a plumber, like him, but the thought of taking apart someone's toilet or kitchen sink made me want to barf. I never had much interest in anything, except for books and animals. If I could read fiction novels all day and get paid for it, I would. Unfortunately, life didn't work that way, which meant I had to think of an actual career choice. While I thought over possible careers, I moved out of my parents house and into a one bedroom apartment over a two hour drive away. I got a job at a grocery store as a shelf replenisher -- a fancy word for stocker -- and had worked there ever since.

On Monday, my car decided it wasn't going to start, no matter how many times I pressed on the gas and turned the key. With how little I made at work, I could barely afford the necessities, let alone a mechanic. To make matters worse, it also rained that day on my way to my job.

Tuesday was no better. I overslept, burned my toast, and forgot to take an umbrella. It rained again that day.

By Wednesday, I was hoping my luck would turn, however, I wasn't so fortunate. All day the downstairs neighbours fought and argued so loud, I wouldn't doubt it if the whole block heard them. I couldn't sleep with their noise, and didn't pass out until nearly five AM. The next day I overslept again, and went about my shift at work in a zombie-like state.

Just when I thought that I was finally going to get a break, it being Friday and all, my boss pulled me aside and told me that they were letting me go. Too many late entries, not enough order in my appearance, and a mountain of other problems, were things they had listed.

Outside it was semi-dark, the sun almost completely set. The warm June air practically suffocated me as I began the fifteen minute walk to my apartment. Rolling up the sleeves of my white dress shirt -- working apparel -- I tipped my head back and stared at the few clouds I could see dotting the sky. Tops of buildings blocked most of my view, but I didn't care all that much. I had grown up on the outskirts of a small town, and though I occasionally missed the silence and wide expense of open land, I felt most at home in the city. The hustle and bustle of other citizens made me feel less alone, and I often enjoyed dreaming up stories for each person I passed. The happy couple were high school sweethearts. The homeless man sleeping behind the grocery store was an aspiring musician. A kid running after a frisbee in the park just got cured of cancer. Everyone had a story, and it was fascinating to me how I could be a simple passerby, a minor character you read about once and never again.

Of course, thinking about that for too long would also bring about a sense of melancholy. What was my story? Who were my minor characters? What did people see when they looked at me?

The walk to my apartment didn't take long. Before I knew it, I was standing on the front steps of the brick building, sliding my key into the security lock. Letting myself inside, I quietly trekked up the three flights of stairs to the second floor. The building was only three floors high, with a basement underneath. It was built in the seventies, and most of the interior proved that. The only things that were of this decade were the white framed windows and the wooden flooring. I honestly believed both the stove and fridge were bought the same year the place was constructed.

Inside my apartment, I locked the door and chucked my keys on top of the fridge. Kicking off my shoes beside the door, I headed into the living room and flopped onto the couch. I flung an arm over my eyes and groaned, my ex-boss's words echoing in my head.

"You're fired Ivan, I've had about enough of your screw-ups and lazy-ass around here."

Coincidently, that sounded a lot like something my father had told me on numerous occasions. A screw-up and a lazy-ass, was apparently all I was.

Now how am I going to pay the bills? I wondered.

Sitting up, I dug into the front pocket of my black jeans and retrieved my phone. Opening up the browser, I googled a job listing site and started looking. Most of them wanted a degree or experience in the field, both of which I lacked. The rest were either too far away to walk, or required speaking more than one language. The most I could say in French was 'Hello' and 'Red apple', neither of which would impress any future employer.

Coming to the end of the want ads, I was ready to admit defeat and go to bed, when an ad caught my eye. It wasn't a want ad, but rather someone looking for a job. I was ready to dismiss it, since I didn't need a babysitter, but an idea sparked. What about a pet sitter? Or a dog walker? I loved animals, and what better way to get paid than to take care of someone else's pet?

Without thinking it through anymore than that, I immediately opened up a new ad and began filling out the listing.

Dog Walker/Pet Sitter

Hi, my name is Ivan, I'm a young male in my twenties looking for work as a dog walker. I enjoy animals and would be willing to work for $11/hour, any day during the week and at anytime. I will of course do anything you require me to do, such as take the dog for a walk or run, feed them, brush them, etc . . . Please feel free to contact me at the information provided below, if you live within that area.

Pressing done, my body filled with renewed hope at the sight of my live job ad. It wouldn't be a great paying job, but it would at least allow me to scrape by until I could find something better. All I could do was cross my fingers that job requests started flooding in.

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Written January 27th, 2017. Posted January 30th, 2017.