(The following little scene occurred to me yesterday, and it amused me in my simpleminded way.)
Waldo Pfennig had just finished checking his e-mail, and was ready to start work when a man and a boy walked into his office. The man was tall and lean, his face dark and weathered. He looked like a cowboy in a movie, even to the coarse blue shirt, jeans, and flat-brimmed black hat, which he carried in red, cracked hands. Waldo couldn’t help checking to see if the man was wearing western boots. Nope. High top work shoes.
The boy was the man’s image, but shorter and less sharp at the edges. His fair hair stood up at one side, as if he’d slept on it badly. His face was hard to see, since his gaze was fixed on the floor.
“My name is Adonijah Fell. This is my son Jonas,” the man said. “This is… Credit Assistance Corporation?”
“That’s right, Mr. Fell,” said Waldo, getting up to reach across his desk and shake the man’s hand. “I’m Waldo Pfennig. Please have a seat, both of you. What can I do for you?” Fell had a grip like slamming your hand in a car door. He sat cautiously, as if it were an unfamiliar exercise. The boy slumped in the chair beside him, head down, elbows on his knees.
“You help people with debt problems, right, Mr. Pfennig?” asked Adonijah Fell.
“Yes sir. No matter who let the dogs out, we’ll pen ’em up again.” Waldo grinned. He was proud of that little joke. It always helped to relieve the tension.
Adonijah Fell just stared at him, puzzled. “I don’t get it,” he said. “I didn’t come about dogs.”
“No, no. It’s just a little joke. You know the song? ‘Who let the dogs out?’”
“Can’t say as I recall it.” Continue reading Short, short story: The Credit Counselor →