That morning the class was extra quiet. I gave Michael a “what the . . . ?” look when I saw the word SILENCE! printed across the dry-erase board.
Miraculously, Ajit had been able to clean the board. Having learned his lesson, he was now taking his sweet time with all his assignments. Most of the day, Ajit just played games on his phone. His inner nerd had been broken like a wild stallion.
“Hey, Banderson, what’s going on?” I asked.
That was greeted by a group SHHHHHH!! from the rest of the class. At the bottom of the board, in smaller print, it read: ABSOLUTELY NO TALKING TODAY.
After sitting there and doing nothing for what seemed like hours, without even a word from our new teacher, I was done. I didn’t make the A team, and I was in no mood to be ignored. Unlike Ajit, my inner nerd could never be tamed.
Maybe it was my inherent proclivity for the pursuit of erudition that compelled me aloft. (SAT-prep alert! Never too early to start.)
Without fear, I got up and approached our big, bad substitute. Enough was enough. Sure, no homework and a teacher who didn’t care sounded good in theory. But I was only in sixth grade! The lacrosse scholarship wasn’t looking so good, and I had a LOT I wanted to do in my life—and a lot I needed to learn!
Ms. Cane was too locked in on her computer to notice me standing there. What I saw almost made me laugh. She was on Facebook? Seriously?! Updating her profile, while I stood there waiting to be taught . . .
But it wasn’t her profile she was looking at. It was the fan page for Dog Groomers R Us. The admin panel was open, and she was just sitting there, staring at the screen. Weird.
“Darn computer!” muttered Ms. Cane as she pushed her laptop. “From bad to worse. What do YOU want?”
“You know you can reposition that image so the dog’s head isn’t chopped off,” I said, pointing at the headless pooch on the screen.
“What do you know about Facebook?” asked Ms. Cane, quickly changing her tone.
“Tons! I’ve got almost four thousand followers and counting!” I bragged.
A smiling Ms. Cane slowly reached over her desk and grabbed a chair. She playfully patted the seat and motioned for me to join her.
Over the next few hours, I learned a lot about our pink-haired sub. It seemed she was more scared than mean. Apparently, because of the bad economy, Ms. Cane wasn’t going to receive all the retirement money she had planned on.
That meant she had to find another job to help pay the bills. And because of her love for animals, Ms. Cane thought launching a mobile dog-grooming business was a good idea. That’s what Dog Groomers R Us was all about.
When she was in the middle of searching for a grooming truck and setting up her business, the school reassigned her to teach our class. That’s why she wasn’t teaching. Ms. Cane was too busy trying to secure her own future. I decided to give Ms. Cane a little advice. Way to go, Mrs. Pilsen’s selfish baby. Is there no end to the chaos you’ve created?
“Dog Groomers R Us? That’s the name you came up with? Are you sure about that?” I asked.
“What do you mean? What’s wrong with the name?” asked Ms. Cane.
“Nothing’s wrong with it. It’s just boring,” I said. “I get the whole Toys ‘R’ Us thing but . . . Where’s the swag? It’s not very inspiring.”
“I think it’s catchy. People are going to LOVE it. I love it,” insisted Ms. Cane.
“And that’s the problem. It’s your idea, so of course you love it,” I said with a smile. “Let’s see what they think?” I said, pointing to the rest of the class. “We have a lot of smart kids. If the name is great, why not put it to a vote?”
Pushing out from behind her desk, Ms. Cane looked alive and energized.
“Good idea! I love kids, AND I know they are going to love it,” said Ms. Cane.
She “loves” kids? She has a funny way of showing it . . .
Calling for attention, Ms. Cane quickly outlined her future plans for the entire class. It was the first time she had spoken to us directly in days.
Nobody knew what to make of her sudden change of character. Was it a trap? Did she have a secret stash of dry-erase boards that needed scrubbing? After a long, awkward pause, Banderson slowly raised his hand.
“Permission to speak?” requested Banderson.
“Permission granted,” said a smiling Ms. Cane.
Shaking his head in utter disbelief, Banderson looked around at the rest of the kids before he spoke.
“You want us to help you?” asked Banderson.
Ms. Cane said, “Yes. Let’s forget the rules for now.”
Everyone looked at one another, trying to figure out what to do. Soon they were all nodding in agreement and the class collectively decided a fresh start was the way to go.
A giddy Ms. Cane swiftly approached the board and wiped it clean. In big bold letters she wrote: DOG GROOMERS R US.
Turning to the class, Ms. Cane waited for reactions.
Kinney’s sixth-grade enrichment class studied the board and thoughtfully considered the name. Some took notes, others opened their phones, and a few whispered in small groups.
Banderson was the first to raise his hand.
“Are you the only dog groomer in your business?” he asked.
“Yup. Just me. I’ll do all the grooming and washing,” answered Ms. Cane.
“In that case, you’re lying,” stated Banderson.
Ms. Cane didn’t understand.
“The US part!” explained Banderson. “As in more than one groomer. It’s false advertising!”
“Good point, Banderson,” I said, taking over the role of official moderator.
“Is dog grooming the only thing you do?” asked Lesley Kim. “What about cat grooming?”
“I’ll start with just dog grooming. But, what the heck, cats need to be washed, too,” said an eager Ms. Cane.
“In that case, change the name to Cat-and-Dog Groomers R Us,” said Lesley.
“I see your point,” said Ms. Cane, who looked more dejected by the minute.
“What about llamas?” asked Raffi Lyons.
Raffi was a crazy llama lover! His family ran a llama farm, and it was the only thing he talked about.
“Sounds good. I’m open to anything. Besides, llamas and alpacas are so adorable,” gushed Ms. Cane.
“Did you just say alpaca? Well, let me tell you something Ms. Cane. Al-PUKE-as stink! Try getting an Al-PUKE-a to pull your wagon,” Raffi said with a laugh. “And forget trimming their toenails. They’ll spit all over you. Don’t be fooled. They’re not the cuddly little fur balls everyone thinks they are.”
“Raffi . . . my man! Great stuff. Solid contribution, bro,” I said, walking over and guiding him back to his seat, trying to avoid a full-blown llama-rific meltdown.
“I think we all agree the name’s not great,” I said. “But . . . can we come up with a better one for Ms. Cane?”
My classmates loved the challenge. Quickly, the rules were established, and everyone got five minutes to think of their best name.
Being a creative guy, the challenge should have been no problem for me. But I had nothing! The best I could come up with was Suds and Growls. Luckily, the rest of the kids did better. Here are the finalists . . .
Pampered Pooches
Mad Clean Washin’ Machine
The Waggin’ Wagon
Never Let ’Em See You Shed
Ms. Cane’s House of Horrors* (Thank you, Banderson.)
Pet SCAM-bulance** (Another Banderson.)
Shiny and Newts
The Fur Mobile Doggie Day-Spa
After reading the names, we all agreed there wasn’t a clear winner. Nothing really stood out as AWESOME. With everyone thinking out loud and frantically trying to come up with a killer name, Michael stepped to the front of the class.
Everyone nodded and smiled.
“We have a winner!” yelled Ms. Cane.
Was I the only one who knew his mom worked at Hair Cuttery? Not too creative.
Ms. Cane was psyched about the new name for her business. But she soon got way more than she bargained for.
Like dangling a scrap of red meat in front of a pack of hungry wolves, the intellectually starved sixth-graders became very aggressive.
“Excuse me, Ms. Cane, did you buy your truck yet?” asked Mitch Leone.
“No, not yet. Probably in a few weeks,” said Ms. Cane.
“Are you going for a hitched trailer or a van/truck conversion?” asked Mitch.
“I don’t know. What’s the difference?” asked Ms. Cane.
“A lot! What about onboard power? Are you thinking a propane or diesel generator? Yamaha or Honda?” questioned Mitch.
A confused-looking Ms. Cane now faced a sea of raised hands. “Wow, so many great questions. It looks like I really need to do some homework,” said Ms. Cane.
Ms. Cane truly had homework-a-phobia! She hated to give homework and obviously couldn’t do her own.
“How much are you going to charge? Are you going to be all cash? Will you take credit cards?” asked Lesley.
Lesley’s parents owned a yogurt shop in town, and she helped out on the weekends. Every time I’d see her working I’d try to get her attention. But it never worked.
Even if she saw me, free yogurt was NEVER on the menu. CHEAPO!
Ms. Cane was frazzled and tried to calm the students. But the questions kept flying!
“Do you have a cool logo?”
“Are you going to need pet insurance?”
“Okay . . . okay . . . let’s settle down. Looks like ole Ms. Cane needs to go back to the drawing board. Thanks for your input. Now, for the rest of class, please have some fun and relax,” said Ms. Cane.
Ms. Cane sat at her desk in disbelief. She had SOOOO much to do. Then it hit her. Sitting right in front of her was the answer—a whole bunch of go-getting brainiacs.
Feverishly typing on her computer, Ms. Cane quickly cranked out a take-home permission slip and passed copies out to the class. After reading it, I had to laugh:
Ms. Cane would have all the parents in the palm of her hand. Even I was impressed with her craftiness. Ancient Chinese philosopher? LOVE IT!
The last potential roadblock to Ms. Cane’s master plan was Principal McCracken. Ms. Cane needed her okay on the whole crazy idea.
As soon as Ms. Cane handed out the permissions slips, she rocketed out the door and headed for the main office. With the promise of happy parents (i.e., no more phone calls) and the suggestion of a possible National Blue Ribbon School award, Principal McCracken was no match for the devious Ms. Cane.
Strolling back into class, Ms. Cane thought her future employees needed some last-minute encouragement.
“Kids! I’d like you all to go home tonight and get those permission slips signed. This is going to be an incredible adventure. You know, real-world experiences,” urged Ms. Cane. “This is the kind of stuff Ivy League colleges love!”
Ajit could hardly contain his excitement. He tried to high-five himself!
“But even if your parents don’t want you to participate, you’re in luck! Mr. Yeatter’s class is about to start a five-part series on the evolution of woodwind instruments. Fun! Right? I hear he’s actually bringing in an oboe.”
I had no words. I was in the presence of a MASTER.
At my house, dinnertime was our opportunity to come together as a family. My parents always loved to hear about our days. For me, that was easy. Being a fine, law-abiding citizen, I never had much to worry about. For Alexis, it was a different story.
Alexis HATED dinnertime. The nightly experience drove her crazy. She loved food but dreaded the price she had to pay to get it. And that price was answering my parents’ questions.
Mom: So, sweetie, how was your day?
Alexis: Fine . . . (munch, munch, munch)
Dad: Just “fine”? You’ll have to do better than that.
Alexis: Okay . . . it was great . . . (munch, munch, munch)
Mom: Really? Really?!
Alexis: *heavy sigh* I had some classes, ate lunch, and came home. Oh yeah! I need twenty bucks for spirit week.
Dad: How’d you do on the history exam?
Alexis: Why?
Dad: Because I’m your father and I want to know how you’re doing.
Alexis: I’ll tell you for half your burger. . . .
Dad: Done!
Typically, Alexis could withhold information long enough to eat half of everyone else’s plate.
I never understood what the problem was with her. It’s not like they were asking to read her diary. For that, all they had to do was come to me!
That night I jumped right in without being asked. I had the biggest news ever!
“You’ll never guess what happened today,” I said, very excited about my announcement.
“Wild Boy finally figured out how annoying you are and beat the crap out of you?” answered Alexis.
“ALEXIS!!! Please. Of course Michael wouldn’t do that,” said Mom.
“Funny! But no, the best thing ever happened. My class is starting an advanced-level internship project. We are going to spend the rest of the year launching and operating a pet-grooming business,” I said proudly.
“Outstanding! Enough with math you’ll never use and reading about ancient dead guys walking around in tablecloths. Some work experience is what you need,” said Dad.
“But wait a minute, hon, before we get all crazy. Does this mean there are no more real classes?” asked Mom. “No math, science, history?”
“Yup. Since we already took our state tests, Ms. Cane wants to try something different. Show us kids how the real world operates. Right, Dad!” I said.
“NO! NO! NO! ARE YOU KIDDING ME!” screamed Alexis as she stood up with her knife and fork gripped tightly. “I have to go to school, take notes, study, get tested, and worry about grades while Jake plays with dogs all day?”
“We have to wash them first,” I said, winking at her. “But seriously, it’s going to be tough. First, we have to plan and research the industry. After that, we’ll break into groups that are responsible for marketing, accounting, and operations,” I said, trying to sound all serious and mature.
“What part of the business are you working on?” asked Mom, calming down enough to catch her breath.
“Me? I want to be in charge of marketing the business. I figure with my online expertise and ability to connect with millions through social media, I’m the right guy to put the world on notice about our AWESOME new pet business.”
Dad’s face quickly went from “amazing news” to “jeez.” Maybe I should have kept quiet?
“Really, Jake? Don’t you think you should try something new? What about accounting?” said Dad.
Keenly sensing the shift in the dinner atmosphere, Alexis quickly sat down and collected herself.
“You guys sure are lucky. But . . . I think Dad is right. How often do you get a chance like this to try something outside your comfort zone?
“Besides—and I don’t want this to sound like I’m trying to GET you, but I am concerned—you spend way too much time online,” said Alexis in her most caring voice.
“And I only say this because of what I saw on the Dr. Oz show yesterday,” said Alexis, looking over at my mom.
Mom was a Dr. Oz FANATIC. If that guy said some weird nut from the Panamanian rain forest could make you healthier, guess who instantly turned into a Central American squirrel monkey?
“What did he say?!” shrieked m
om in a frantic tone.
“He did a whole special on teen addictions. And guess what’s number one?” asked Alexis.
“Drama!” yelled my dad, knowing exactly what she was up to.
“Shhhhh! Be quiet. What? What’s number one?” pleaded my mom.
“The INTERNET! I’m not an expert, but based on the signs he mentioned, I think Jake could be addicted,” said Alexis.
“Oh my god! The INTERNET!” said Mom, turning to my dad for support.
“He has all the symptoms. Look at the way he always leans forward over his meal. Too much time tapping on his iPad. Dr. Oz calls that ‘social hunch,’ and it can permanently curve his spine,” said Alexis.
“WHAT!” shrieked Mom.
“Have you also noticed Jake squints a lot?” said Alexis. “Dr. Oz calls that ‘gamer eye.’ He’ll need glasses soon for sure!”
“Jake, be honest, do you have gamer eye?” asked Mom.
Before I could answer, Alexis delivered a knockout blow.
“And I REALLY didn’t want to bring this up . . . but, he’s gotten really soft and puffy. Dr. Oz says the Internet and teen obesity walk hand-in-hand,” said Alexis as she sat back, smiling.
“My man, I have noticed you’ve put on a few pounds,” said Dad. “Maybe you should take a break from the whole ‘online’ thing for a while.”
“Jake. If Dr. Oz says you’re a hunched, visually impaired, obese teen, then YOU NEED TO LISTEN!” pleaded my mom.
“I heard gamer eye is serious business,” said Dad.
Dinner had taken a drastic turn for the worse. Suddenly, I was taking fire from all directions.
What to do? Thinking. Pondering. I needed a way out. The whole time, Alexis sat across from me, grinning. She waited for my next move.
And then it came to me. The path forward was clear but wouldn’t be without casualties. I just stared at Alexis knowing what I was about to do would change our relationship forever.
“And I agree with Dr. Oz 1000 percent. I’ve definitely been spending WAY too much time online,” I said. My mom looked happier already, and was clutching my dad’s hand. Easy does it, Mom, your baby boy is going to be okay.
Dog Eat Dog Page 4
