Inhuman Swill

Just received another instance of one of my favorite emails. It goes something like this:

Hi! You've been such a help and inspiration, I'd like to send you a copy of my new self-published book. I'd really like to read some of your books too. Which one do you suggest I start with?

Flattering, right? But you have to know how to read an email like this. Here's what it means:

I know I'm imposing on you so I'll salve my conscience by pretending to want to read your stuff. Only I'm too lazy to do my homework, so I'll let you tell me what books you've written instead.

If I were a real asshole instead of just pretending to be one, I would write back:

It doesn't matter which one you start with, so pick whichever one out of all one looks best to you.

Good thing I'm not that kind of asshole.

What I didn't say in the previous post is that today's visit is the last visit Ella will make to that vet. We've been with this vet for over two years, and while we haven't always been happy with the service, we've felt some loyalty. But today was absolutely the last straw.

I was waiting in the exam room while Ella, sedated a bit, was getting her X rays. When the orderly, a Neanderthal bruiser I'll call Frank, brought her back into the exam room, he set her down on the floor. She sort of slumped there in a boneless, trembling puddle, then started bashing her head against the floor.

I immediately got down on the floor and lifted her up to keep her from hurting herself. "I can put her in a crate, like usual," said Frank, "or you can hold her in your lap to keep her from hitting her head."

Now, Frank doesn't seem like he's cruel, just like he's not all there. "I'll hold her," I said.

"Are you sure?"

Yes, I was fucking sure. I sat on the floor of the exam room with her until she had settled down enough that she wasn't going to hurt herself. This was before the vet explained to me about the hallucinogenic properties of the sedative, though I had guessed it myself from the way Ella was acting.

Frank came back with the vet to take Ella to a crate to finish "waking up." When Frank picked her up from my lap, she peed all over me. The vet apologized to me for the mess, but she's my dog. I wasn't upset about the mess. I was upset about the treatment.

I don't even want to mention the incident from last year that has made Ella forever fearful of this vet's office. You'll just tell me that we never should have taken her back again after that, and you would be absolutely right, which seems obvious in hindsight.

"Your call is important to us. All our associates are busy servicing other customers. Please hold."

In other news, today's top random spam from-field name is "Defeatism J. Beheading." Yeah, that's an email I'm going to hurry to read!