Starting Position

Chapter 8

Working at a pet store had the tendency to make time evaporate. Even when I wasn't helping customers or stocking shelves, I could find something to do. Sometimes, when I knew I was alone in the store, I would talk to the animals. It was freeing to express yourself to a creature that had no concept of judgement.

I had been working at the Pet Adoption Stop since my sophomore year of high school. After a brief interview, I had been hired on the spot, and I knew it was all in thanks to my mother.

All those years ago, she had dropped me off at the store and told me I had an interview which was completely unexpected. While I did have a desire to work at the pet store, I hadn't mustered the courage to request an application, let alone ask if the store was hiring; however, I still ventured into the store, my mother waving encouragingly from inside the car. I could still remember her warm smile and shining eyes, as well as the sudden surge of confidence. 

"Hi, my name is Elliot Mitchell, and I'm here for an interview," I had said to the burly, weathered face behind the front counter. There were a variety of birds bounding about and singing in large cages beside him.

"Oh, are you now?" the man had said in a gruff, yet kind, voice. He introduced himself as Erikson.

"Yes, sir. I believe it was scheduled for three this afternoon. I have references, as well, if you need to contact them."

"Ah, yes, I see. Well, why don't we start then."

I had waited for him to suggest moving to a private room or taking a seat of some kind, but he did no such thing. Instead, he leaned forward, his chest hovering over the counter, and smiled one of the kindest smiles I had ever seen, although the majority of it was hidden beneath an unruly beard. He then asked, rather seriously, "And why do you want to work here?"

The answer to that question required almost no thought. "To help take care of the animals and help them find good homes."

Erikson's eyes had twinkled, and after a pause, he said, "I take it you're in school?"

I nodded.

"Why don't you come by Wednesday after class and we'll find something for you to do. We'll figure out a schedule afterwards."

My grin must have been ear to ear, because after I had thanked Erikson tirelessly, a laugh rumbled from his belly.

It wasn't until over a year later, once my mom had passed away, I learned the whole scenario had been fabricated. Erikson never asked my mother about filling the position, she had been the one to inquire about a job. An interview had never been scheduled. She had dropped me off at the pet store with a false sense of confidence, and it was enough to land me the job I was too afraid to begin chasing.

In the years I had with my mother, this lesson was what stuck with me: doubt had the power to keep a perfectly attainable life out of arm's reach.

At present, I was cleaning the container of a box turtle, one I had endearingly named Mr. Shelton, who had been left on front stoop outside one unsuspecting night a few months ago. After naming him and placing him in a larger container, Mr. Shelton now had a home in the far-left corner of the unkempt, homey shop with the rest of reptiles and amphibians.

About a week later, I noticed I could usually find Mr. Shelton standing near the left edge of his cage. It didn't strike me as odd until I realized he was looking towards a tortoise on the other side of the room, who was looking at him as well. Some slight organization later, I had placed Mr. Shelton and the tortoise, Ricky Ricardo (Erikson was a huge I Love Lucy fan), so the sides of their cages were flush together.