Renting a U-Haul should be a fairly simple, normal procedure, right?! Well, nothing is normal in my life. While renting a U-Haul on Tuesday, I had the following conversation with the owner of the shop. By the way . . . I really need to learn to keep my mouth shut!
(Scene: 39 year-old female stands at counter filling out paperwork with her brother for U-Haul rental. Owner of shop stands behind register, trying to concentrate on entering customer information. Big-mouth female customer interrupts his work to start a conversation about the stuffed raccoon hanging on the wall.
Me (39 year-old female customer) : Where did you get that stuffed raccoon?
Owner: In the Wendy's dumpster.
Me: What?! Are you serious? You just found it dead in the Wendy's dumpster and decided to stuff it?
Owner: No. It was a momma raccoon. I watched it from the window all summer long. It would get into the dumpster and feed her babies.
Me: So, how did it die?
Owner: I hit it over the head with a shovel.
Me (sharp intake of breath): Seriously?! But it's head doesn't look mashed in.
Owner: I just gave it a light tap on the head. I just knocked it unconscious.
Me: Well . . . how did it die then?
Owner (in a matter-of-fact voice): I put it into a plastic bag and hooked the bag up to my car exhaust.
Me: Wow. That seems kind of brutal.
Owner: Oh, no, it wasn't. That coon had been leaving feces in my U-Haul all summer and chewed up a U-Haul seat in one of my trucks.
Me (thinking to myself): I wonder if he's going to rent me the U-Haul filled with raccoon feces?
Me (out loud): So, then you just stuffed it?
Owner: I have a good friend that stuffed it. I told him to make the coon look really nice and friendly, because Wilbur scares people. (He pointed his finger towards a nearby wall.) That's Wilbur.
I glanced over at the wall and saw Wilbur. Oh, my goodness. Seriously?!
Me: How did Wilbur die? (I secretly wondered if he'd gone to a farm, hit sweet Wilbur on the head, bagged him and hooked him up to the exhaust as well.)
Owner: I shot him with a bow and arrow.
Me: I can see why children would be scared of Wilbur.
Owner (laughing): Oh, yea. He scares the kids. (pause) By the way, I can get you a raccoon if you want one.
Me (thinking): Oh, yes. That is just what I need. A friendly raccoon hanging from a tree limb on my wall at home in the kitchen.
Me (thinking): I bet you have. Kill the coons in the Wendy's garbage cans=free Frosty.
My life is stranger than fiction!
P.S. The owner is currently getting vinyl lettering made to put under the stuffed raccoon. Her name is "Ricky".