The yutes of America


last fall this cute little kid came to my door. He said he had a dog business and would pick up our dog poop (we have two large dogs) for $5 a week. I thought it was the greatest thing. Heck, I would have given the kid $5 just for taking the initiative to knock on doors and present himself. See, when I was his age (late single digits) I used to mow lawns and do yard work for cash. Anyhow, it was a deal and he came around every weekend and picked up the dog business. Problem was, he didn’t have a pooper scooper. We have a nice one, so we lent it to him. No big problem.

Over time, he came less often. It came to a boiling point today though. He came by and ‘took care of the business’. I gave him a five spot, and asked if he would be sure to drop the business in the garbage bin on the side of the yard. His reply was ‘I’ll need a bag, then’.

It took me a moment to grasp the insanity of this plea. “I’ll need a bag then”. I then asked him what had he done with the dog doo. He said he put it in a pile in the yard. This means I would have to go out and scoop the crap into a bag myself, and drag it to the garbage myself. So what service is he providing? He comes over, uses MY pooper scooper, uses MY bags, then leaves the shit in the yard. This kid has future union leader written all over him!