Every time I turn around, there's another one of these motivational gurus popping up, spreading wisdom throughout the land via high-priced seminars.
Tony Robbins has made made millions inspiring people, retraining them to think like winners, to lose their loser friends and associate only with respectable types. Bill Clinton had him over to the house for one of these sessions a few years ago although I think Hillary may have misplaced his notes. Wayne Dyer's teachings have also inspired millions. "Have a love affair with yourself," he advises. (This could also cut down considerably on the high cost of dating.)
Their common theme seems to revolve around self-esteem and that's where I come in. During my career, I've met a lot of groomers who are constantly getting dog hair kicked in their faces. I want to inspire them to pick up those furry clumps and hurl them right back!
My first step on this new career path was to organize a Wimp Workshop, a golden opportunity for everyone to come clean and confess those occasions when they had been spineless jellyfish, craven cowards, whipped dogs.
I spoke first, detailing the time when I miscalculated an employee's salary and she ripped up her paycheck, tossing it like confetti in my face. An empowered employer would have handed her a pink slip, but not a dyed-in-the-wool wimp like myself. I chased her to the parking lot, checkbook in hand, apologizing for my shoddy math and scribbling in the correct figures.
My fellow groomer-wimps smiled with understanding. Then slowly a young blonde groomer rose to her feet to testify: "My name is Mary Lou and I am a wimp." "A customer with a cocker spaniel called for an appointment on Thanksgiving Day and I took it. He was having company and the dog was plagued by irritable bowel syndrome. I ran down to the shop to groom it once my turkey was in the oven." We knew better than to ask if she had gotten a tip.
"My name is Agnes," said a gray-haired groomer, her voice quaking. "I had a young groomer working for me who kept losing my equipment. If I asked her what happened to my scissors or blades, she got very offended. Sometimes she wouldn't speak to me for days." "Last month, this girl opened her own salon right down the street. When I went to her Grand Opening, I recognized my new clippers, a dryer and a pair of my Japanese shears." We nodded our heads. We could relate.
A bespectacled man named Harold spoke next. "I had an employee who insisted on bringing her pets to work," he began. Big deal, we all thought. "She has four dogs, a Rottweiler, a Chow, a Doberman Pinscher and a toy poodle," he said. "I put up with the growling and scaring the customers, but when I got bitten on the ankle, I asked her to leave one particular dog at home." "What would you expect from a Doberman?", one woman murmured. "I know a Rottie like that myself," said another. "That's why I don't groom Chows," offered a third. "You're all wrong," Harold sighed. "It was the poodle, but I'm proud to say, it doesn't happen anymore." "You told her to keep that dog at home?", I asked. "Well, no," he replied. "Now I wear high-topped engineer boots to work."
Then there was the petite brunette who said she went into labor while scissoring a Standard Poodle. "I gave birth in the hospital elevator," she reported, "but I did finish the dog."
A freckle-faced redhead confessed that no matter how hard she tried, she could not utter the words: "Mrs. Jones, Max's price is going up by two dollars." I urged her to summon up her courage and try to complete this statement but she kept choking on the "two dollars" part. She promised to practice at home in front of a mirror.
"Would you like some coffee?" I asked them brightly. They looked exhausted, obviously spent from all those confessions. "Not unless you're going to make it anyway," they answered in unison. "Don't go to any trouble."
I took a deep breath and launched into the gospel according to me: "No more bosses from hell, no more pilfering, power-tripping, my-way-or-no-way employees! No more knuckling under to the demands of unreasonable customers, even the ones who are people-aggressive!" "Picture that person who has been victimizing you," I continued. "Now be the pit bull that you are!" It was a mesmerizing experience as our wimpy ways were cast aside. We beat our chests and growled with wild abandon. For one shining moment, we became the alpha dogs we had always dreamed of being.
The hall rang with our shouts until the janitor came in and told us to keep it down. Suddenly my daughter rushed into the room with an urgent phone call. We had all been invited to appear on the Oprah Winfrey Show to air our toxic shame before millions on network TV! "Oprah will even pay for our plane tickets and hotel rooms!", my daughter told them, almost in tears from excitement. What a way to launch my new career, I thought, already practicing my on-camera smile.
Unfortunately, the room had been cleared. The groomers had all headed for the rest room. I'd like to think it was the coffee but in my heart of hearts, I suspected another reason for the mass exodus. I hate to say it, but I think they wimped out.