old people don’t scoop poop

One thing I’ve quickly learned living amongst the elderly (I know it sounds like I live in a nursing home, but quite to the contrary: I live amongst the still-independents) is that the older you get, the more money you spend on services, rather than products. Personally, I’d rather have three DVR boxes than have my gutters cleaned, but that’s just me. But once you’re old, I guess you’ve done enough of those shitty chores to have someone else do them for you.

So I’m rarely surprised by the flyers on my door: lawn services, painting, stringing up your Christmas lights, taking down your Christmas lights, power raking, gutter cleaning, handyman services, snow removal, the works. I’ve seen them all. Until the other day. The other day, I got a flyer for EntreManure or the Poop Butler. Whatever name they go by, the service is pretty self-explanatory: they come and pick up the poop your dog has left in the backyard.

$6/week, but the price increases with each additional dog you have. As a bonus, they will pick up dead animals in your yard, as well. Now I’m sure this service is the brainchild of some college kid who just wants to put “Business owner” or “President and CEO” on his resume, but either way, this company exists. I feel bad for whoever set the prices. It would cost $6 in gas to get from one house to another. This company can’t be making a profit. The old people are completely taking advantage of this kid unless he’s smart and low-balling his prices.

I’m a pet owner, and I knew scooping poop came with him. It’s a package deal: like having hair and owning a brush. Really, the only responsibilities with my dog is that I keep his dishes full of food and water and I scoop up after him. That’s it. How lazy can someone be that they farm out the second of two responsibilities? Too lazy to own a pet, that’s for sure.

But hey, when I’m old, I’m sure I’ll subscribe. Better than that: I’ll shoot squirrels and rabbits with a pellet gun and make the poor entrepreneur scoop up their dead bodies while they’re still warm to be sure I get my money’s worth. The other thing I know about the elderly? They sure as hell are cheap old coots. Give them a dollar and they’ll trade it in to the Dairy Queen cashier for six quarters. Sneaky bastards. I’m kind of excited to become one. No one can give me shit for being a bitch, because I’ll be old and I will have earned it.

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