Dog Gone Whistle

Dog Gone Whistle by Gary Benton
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Bubba walked into the busy department store and up to the refund counter. The line was long, but he expected as much, since it was just a few days after Christmas. He noticed all of the workers wore bright red vests and even had their nametags centered right above the store logo. Fancy enough, he thought as he pulled his ball cap down on his head and adjusted it for a better fit.

An hour later, he was still in line, but he’d be served next, so he allowed his blood pressure to go down. Two things Bubba hated in life with a passion, standing in lines and rude people. Little did he know that on this day he would encounter both of them.

“Next!” He heard a female voice say and glancing at the long refund counter he finally saw her waving franticly at him at the very end. Moving quickly, before she changed her mind, he walked to the counter, held out a plastic bag and said, “I’d like a refund.”

He noticed Myrtle, according to her nametag, was a chubby middle-aged woman, with purple hair, pierced eyebrows and false teeth. Her smile was weak and forced, her bright green lipstick looked unnatural and he suspected not an inch of her was genuine. Grinning, he thought, I won’t get much help here, I suspect.

“Ooo wan a refun?”

“Huh?” Bubba asked, but then saw her tongue was pierced. Still grinning like a dog attempting to pass a peach seed, he replied, “Yup, I want a refund.”

“No can do.” She stated with a flat voice, handed the bag back to him, and continued, “or ooo can speak wid da manager.”

His grinned disappeared as he said sharply, “Then, Myrtle, get the manager.”

A few minutes later, a tall lanky kid of about eighteen walked to the counter and stated with no small amount of self-pride, “I’m Hank and I run the refund department. What can I do for you today?”

“Howdy Hank, I got this dawg whistle fer Christmas and it don’t work.”

Hank looked confused and pulled the whistle from the plastic bag, looked it over closely and then replied, “It’s not damaged, so it should work.”

Bubba, feeling his cheeks flush with anger, slowly said, “Son, things in life don’t always do what we expect them to do. See, my cousin Bobby Lee ain’t damaged, but he don’t work neither.”

Taking the whistle from Hank and placing it to his lips, Bubba blew long and hard. As soon as he’d finished, he wiped the spittle from the whistle and said, “See, ya cain’t hear a thing.”

Hank gave a loud laugh and replied, “Of course not, it’s a dog whistle.”

“And, Hank, what does that mean?”

“You’re not supposed to hear a dog whistle.”

“Listen young feller, I may be old, but I ain’t stupid. If a whistle don’t whistle, then she’s broke. Do I look like I fell off the chicken truck this mornin’ as it entered town?”

“You can’t hear a dog whistle and I didn’t even know we had a chicken truck coming to town.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s a dog whistle, or do you mean about the chicken truck?”

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