This Dawg Don’t Hunt

This Dawg Don’t Hunt by Gary Benton
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Bubba walked into the huge store and looked around. It was the same as usual, filled with lots of unhappy people in a hurry. He held a small bag in his left hand and walked up to the refund counter. Bubba was dressed as he normally dressed for a trip into town; worn blue bib-overalls, white tee shirt, combat boots, and his “Joe’s Feedlot” ball cap. His right cheek held a large amount of snuff.

“May I help you sir?” A middle-aged woman in a red vest, with the name Lucille on her nametag, asked him as soon as he approached the counter.

Bubba could tell right off that he did not like the woman. Her hair was dyed a blue-purple color and her gold-framed glasses were held down low on her nose. The woman’s voice had a hard tonal Yankee twang to it.

“ Nope,” Bubba said to himself, “this heah woman hain’t a-gonna hep me much, I ‘spect.”

“Yep, you shore can hep me, Lucille. I wanna ree-turn this heah.” Bubba said as he handed the woman a small plastic bag that held the purchase he had made the night before, as well as the receipt.

The woman took the bag, opened it, and looked inside. She didn’t even raise her head as she looked over her glasses at Bubba, smiled a fake smile, and said, “We cannot take software back. Once it is purchased, it is yours.”

“Lady, you listen to me. I paid more than a hunnert dollars fer that softwar and hit don’t softwar at tall. I should have bought hardwar instead.“

“Sir, I am not sure I understand your complaint. I can see plainly that it is software.”

“Well, mayhap I hain’t ‘zackly ‘splainin’ this right. See, let me put this a-ways fer ya…iffen you bought a coon dawg and it didn’t chase coons, what would you do with it?”

“Well, I don’t know sir. I have never bought but one dog in my life and that was my little Charlie. He was a poodle. Nonetheless, I suspect I would take it back for a refund, if it did not hunt as advertised.”

Bubba reached down, picked up the bag and held it in the woman’s face as he said, “Well, woman, this dawg heah don’t hunt.”

“Sir, let me get the manager of the refunds department and let him explain our return policy as it pertains to software. I am sure he will be able to assist you in understanding your rights as if pertains to refunds in the retail market.”

“Now, I don’t know a dang thang ‘bout no markets, ‘ceptin a little ‘bout the hawg market I hear on the radio each Tuesday mornin’. Iffen it makes yer frog hop, lady, get the manager, get the assistant manager, or get the owner. I jess want my money back.”

As Bubba hung around the counter for about ten minutes, he looked at flyers, read the signs, and watched other customers as they received refunds much larger than his amount. As each person counted their money in their hands as they walked off, Bubba felt his blood pressure going up. Then, the department manager arrived.

He was a little squirrelly guy and weighed about eighty pounds, bald, big low-priced black rimmed plastic glasses, and a cheap brown suit. He obviously had the habit of combing what little hair he had left over the bald spot to hide it .He was constantly repositioning the long locks as he approached Bubba.

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