This Dawg Don’t Hunt

“Now, what seems to be the problem here? I understand you are dissatisfied with one of our dog products?” The squirrel asked in a high-pitched voice.

Bubba turned, walked over to the trashcan and spit a long stream of brown tobacco juice. As he lifted his head, he felt a drop run down the side of his left cheek and chin. He didn’t bother to wipe his chin or cheek as he turned back toward the man and said, “Yep, I guess you could call it a dawg product.”

Bubba spent the next fifteen minutes explaining how coon dogs were supposed to hunt and how he expected his money back when they didn’t. After Bubba’s explanation, the manager was more confused than ever.

“Sir, I am a bit confused. Exactly what product did you return for an anticipated refund?”

“I brought back some softwar yer man told me last night would werk in my machine, only it don’t.”

“Sir, we cannot accept software in return for a refund.”

“Ok, now, you move yer skinny little butt and get me the man YOU work fer then. And, this time I hain’t a-givin’ you but five minutes. Then, at the end of them five minutes, I will start talking in a VERY loud voice ‘bout y’alls refund policy.”

Bubba had less than a five minute wait. In just a few moments, the store manager was there. He was dressed in a plain white shirt and a plain black tie, nice black pants, and shinny black shoes. He had all of his close-cropped brown hair, no glasses, and was more than just a little overweight.

“Good afternoon, suh. I’ve heard of the difficulties you are experiencin’ heah today. How may I assist y’all?” He asked with a pleasant Southern voice as he extended his hand to shake with Bubba.

“Well, I brought back some softwar and I want a refund. I got home las night right after I bought it and dee-scovered it ain’t fer my machine. I didn’t even open the package. It said right there on the side what machine it was fer and it ain’t mine.” Bubba explained as he shook the man’s offered hand.

“Suh, you mean to tell me the package has never been opened? Did ya tell that to the other two employees you spoke with?” The manager asked as he looked at both the refund clerk and the manager of the refund department.

“Whal, no, I didn’t open it. Why would I open it ifn it ain’t fer my machine. As fer a-tellin’ the other two folks, well, now, they jess never asked, nor gave me the time to say anythang ‘bout that. They jess rambled ‘bout how they could not refund my money over softwar stuff. And, I can a-tell ya right now, they hain’t got a lick of Southern manners ‘bout ‘em. Neither one of them even said good day or nothin’.”

In less than five minutes, Bubba was walking away from the refund department counting his money. The store manager had left taking the two red-faced employees with him, right after telling another person to refund Bubba’s full purchased price.

“Funny place this is,” Bubba thought as he folded up the money and placed it in his wallet,

“They don’t know nothin’ ‘bout coon dawgs that don’t hunt or rednecks givin’ ‘em a hard time over poor manners. Yankees is always in such a dern hurry.”

Then, as he exited the store, he thought, “Think I will take Maude out fer a beer later tonight.”

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