PUPPY EYES

PUPPY EYES

©Arafingol 2015

 

I work three days a week at the local recycling depot. We accept all sorts of things from all sorts of people, and I mean ALL sorts. Of people.

A few months ago a woman approached me carrying a large black plastic garbage bag, which was closed, hiding the contents from view. She walked right up to me, stared intently at my face and said, “Puppy eyes!”, in a rather agitated and pleading voice.

“What?”, I replied, not at all certain I had heard correctly.

“Puppy eyes!”, she repeated, this time with a hint of sorrow and longing in both her words and facial expression.

Again I ask, “Ummm … what?”

“Puppy eyes!”, she implored, as if it was a thing of terrible importance that she expected me to respond to with equally intense emotion.

“I’m sorry, ma’am, what do you mean?” At this point I begin to think along the lines of calling an ambulance.

Then she revealed more. “You can’t resist my PUPPY EYES!”, she shouted, followed much more softly with, “…my great big puppy eyes…” which trailed off into something akin to a whimper. She also began to sway a bit from side to side as one might do if engrossed in a gentle piece of music.

I thought to myself, ‘Is this woman trying to hypnotize me? If she is, she’s not doing a very good job of it.’ It was a busy day and I had work to do so I had to deal with this situation politely, yet with alacrity. I asked, “And what is it I’m not supposed to be able to resist your puppy eyes for?”

Without taking her gaze off my face she opened the large black plastic garbage bay. Inside were many white plastic bags that were once full of potting soil and steer manure. These bags were still caked with product and way too dirty for the depot to accept. I respectfully explained this to the woman. 

“But my puppy eyes!”, she said. “You can’t resist my great big puppy eyes.”

I felt like sighing, but restrained myself. Her eyes did not bring to mind those of a puppy but a squinting rodent. The depot simply could not accept such dirty bags. It would be a quick and simple matter to rinse them off with a garden hose and I explained this to her.

“But my puppy eyes”, she cooed, now trying to be gentle and seductive.

A possible solution flashed into my head. “Ma’am”, I said, keeping my face from smirking and my voice from betraying humour, “I’m a cat person.”

She laughed, closed the garbage bag, and left. She has returned about once every two weeks, sans dirty bags, and we, the crew who work at the recycling depot, amongst ourselves refer to her as “Puppy Eyes”.