Have you been thinking about an image makeover? No, not on that poodle cross who came in with more impressive dreadlocks than Bob Marley, and not on the cranky Lhasa whose owner insists on poodle feet. I'm talking about you, the groomer, here. Have you checked your image lately?
Image is a tricky thing. It calls to mind the way you appear to others as well as the way you appear to yourself. In my grooming career, I've seen a great improvement in our profession, image-wise, with the onset of colorful, hair-resistant uniforms designed to make us look more professional.
Gone are the days when I rushed to the after-school PTA meeting with a big tuft of dog hair dangling provocatively from my seat. And I no longer cut the line at my after-work supermarket stop by shedding on fellow shoppers. Let's face it: after a day's work grooming temperamental dogs and cats, there were many days when I could have been the poster girl for the battered women's shelter.
Thank goodness those days are over. Now I can sashay around the shop in a leopard-print smock or a little black jumpsuit emblazoned with silver scissors. My bather can don her full length waterproof apron instead of putting up with tasteless jokes about her participation in a wet T-shirt contest. Yes, uniforms do more for our self-esteem than those bluejeans ever did, especially after you've nicked a few toenails and spilled half a jar of styptic powder on them.
Exactly where do we find ourselves on the continuum of the prestige meter when it comes to our newfound professionalism? On a par with the meter maid, the waitress, the florist, hair stylist or lab technician?
Ours is not really a blue collar job; we're not cogs in the wheel of the factory assembly line, although I must admit I felt a certain kinship with Laverne and Shirley after turning out all those cookie cutter Cockers during last year's Christmas rush.
I guess we'd more accurately be called pink collar workers. (Sorry, guys.)We're a cut above the supermarket bagger whose only interaction with the public revolves around the question "Paper or plastic?" We're more like the flight attendant who smiles non-stop and inquires "Coffee, tea or milk?", or in our case, "Grooming, fleas or strip?"
How do you define a professional anyway? A person who is paid for his or her knowledge and skill? How much skill we possess in grooming is partly determined by a Higher Power but how much knowledge we possess is up to us.
We don't hang up our shingle but now that we are becoming certified in large numbers, we could. We could even do TV ads like those lawyers who titillate our instinct for greed: "Have you been injured in an accident? Dropped a library book on your foot? Tripped on the church steps or had dizzy spells on an escalator? Call us today and get what's coming to you!"
Our ad might go something like this: "Are you embarrassed to walk your dog? Does he scare small children and cause your houseguests to hold their noses? Are your neighbors talking about him behind your back, referring to him as 'that filthy fleabag'? Call today and let us make him a social asset instead of a liability." (There's no limit to what a little guilt and shame could do for business.)
For the pet care worker, achieving a professional image is an uphill battle. Consider the way we've been portrayed on the silver screen. An example: what was the occupation of one of those intellectually-challenged lead characters in last year's megahit, "Dumb and Dumber?" You guessed it, a dog groomer.
He was Stanley Ipkiss, the character played by Jeff Daniels, the one who cruised around in a fur-covered truck known as the Muttmobile. Lettered prominently on its side was "Mutt Cuts Providence, RI." (Sorry, Mario.)
This flick was a no-brainer, its humor leaning heavily towards bodily functions, centering around laxatives and frequent urination. It must have been designed with an audience of pre-teen boys in mind but it made millions, skyrocketing the career of rubber-faced comedian Jim Carrey. Professional pet sitters had further reason to wince when he played the role of Ace Ventura, Pet Detective. This was such a moneymaker that it inspired a sequel. Now there's a way to make money, impressionable theater-goers must have mused, fill up your cramped apartment with free-ranging pets of every species, relying on sheer luck that they'll never escape or get injured. Sure, that's the ticket. Then there was Muriel Pritchard, the impossibly naive character portrayed by Geena Davis in "The Accidental Tourist."With her lace-trimmed ankle sox and red pumps, peasant blouses and mini-skirts, she was a groomer and dog trainer at the Meow Bow Animal Hospital in Baltimore who changed the life of taciturn travel writer Macon Porter, played by William Hurt.
Muriel's training tactics were a bit questionable as she tried in instill obedience in Edward, Porter's strong-willed Cardigan Welsh Corgi. Her repertoire relied heavily on strange clucking noises and when the dog's owner wasn't looking, she coaxed him to make a tight turn with one of her high heels. I found Muriel's character endearing in spite of her inappropriate clothing choices. How could you resist someone who sang so badly at the sink while doing dishes? In her own quirky way, she coached the uptight pet owner out of his shell, leading to romance and a more spontaneous lifestyle. (I'm sure that happens every day in shops across this great nation.)
In 1990's Edward Scissorhands, Johnny Depp displayed a remarkable talent for grooming as he starred in the title role,using sharp shears instead of fingers. (I don't know about you, but I'd love to see him do a Master Class at Intergroom Shirlee take note.)
The vulnerable creation of an eccentric scientist played to perfection by Vincent Price, Edward left his grotesque castle home to find sanctuary with the family of a sweet but ditsy Avon Lady played by Dianne Wiest. Demonstrating a talent for human hairstyling, tree topiary, salad making and ice sculpture as well as grooming, Edward fell hard for the teenaged daughter played by Winona Ryder, leading to his tragic downfall. (We've all had disgruntled customers, but how many of us have been pursued by angry torch-bearing villagers who wanted to kill us?)
As for TV, the groomer's image hasn't fared much better, as witnessed in "Babes," the short-lived sitcom of a few years back which featured a big-haired tough-talking groomer in one of the lead roles. Another groomer is a minor character is the current hit, "Grace Under Fire." After my initial excitement, I had to question the reality of this character as well, the sister of Grace, who showed up for the Christmas holidays a few days early. (Sure, that could happen.)
One can only hope that someday we'll see ourselves portrayed realistically on film, part of the mainstream of upwardly mobile professionals who take great pride in what we do, but somehow I just can't shake this uneasy feeling that if Hollywood does make such a movie about us, we'll find it in the video store in the section labelled "Science Fiction."