Itty Bitty Stories

Blazing Burt

Blazing Burt

“I want a job here.”

I stare at the guy incredulously. Behind the glass windows of the pet shop, there’s about ten photographers snapping away with their clicky cameras. My eyes go back and forth between the two. He’s grinning at me, as if the people behind him are not even there. The hair that sweeps his forehead is a honey hazel brown, not even considered brown. Same goes for his eyes. He’s certainly not dressed to work in a pet shop.

Because of the mess I usually get myself into each day, I don’t dress up for the occasion. I’m sporting a nice tank top with some shorts, my brown hair up in a horribly messy bun. An apron swings around my torso with the store’s name freshly printed on it. This guy, though, he’s got on a nice Gucci shirt with some sleek pants and what looks to be some leather shoes. The only thing I would be able to afford on his body is probably his socks. Then again, they’re probably from India, made from a nice silk.

I haven’t had TV in a while now. My TV has been shut off for about three years. I couldn’t afford it, and it’s not like I watch that much TV anyways. I never did keep up with the celebrities. But it’s not hard to tell this guy is famous. By the looks of it, really famous.

While I’m gawking at him like a creep, his smile falters. “I want a job here,” He repeats, still confident and proud.

“Are you sure?” I ask in a tone that’s not believing. “I think there’s a nice Abercrombie & Fitch somewhere around here-”

“No thank you,” He cuts in smoothly, “I’d rather work here.”

Shrugging, I nod. I am the manager around here, and I’m the only one working here. It should be good to get some help around the store. “Fine, here’s a form, fill it out and I’ll get back to you in a week.”

He falters again when I hand him the form. “I need a job right now, though. Trust me, I’m a good worker. Can’t you just see how I do for the day? Please?”

Ah, what the hell. He’s hot, give him a chance. My boss is practically never here, and I don’t think she’ll mind, anyways. Especially when he looks like a Greek god. “Fine. I’m not paying you today, though.”

“Fine by me,” He flashes me a grin. I let him through the counter and hand him an apron. I shove a little pooper scooper into his hands 

“Here, go clean Puggy’s box. He shit.”

He seems bewildered. “Excuse me?”

“Puggy. Yeah, he shit. He shit in his box. Puggy needs you to clean his shit that’s in his box. Go,” I order him, the quirks of my lips pulling into a smirk.

The guy blinks at me. “Where is Puggy?”

“Over there,” I breezily answer, pointing towards the small, boxed off cage. There’s about two rows of little play pens of dogs; some share, some get their own play pens. I call them boxes because it’s easier. They’re tiny little puppies, cute as can be. On the right wall of the store is full of caged birds, hamsters, mice, and all those animals. Then to the left is where the cats are. In the back is where I keep all the toys and pet food and other things in that sort.