License to Shop Read Free

a
rendezvous with a mongrel and now it is my job to see all those
pups get a good home by the end of the week, or they’re off to the
pound.”
    “ To the pound?” I looked
at the squirming pups. They were cute. They’d probably get adopted.
I counted. There were five.
    “ Yep. Dr. Stubbs is not a
patient person.” She shook her head. “With my accounting skills, I
can count the puppies, and add up the costs of feeding and caring
for them, but my marketing skill needs some help. That sign has not
been effective. Students have cooed over the pups, but not one
wanted to buy.”
    “ To be fair,” I said,
searching my rusty memory for marketing tidbits, “Your target
customer is not going to be a student who is still in sticker shock
at how much an education costs. Do dorms even allow pets? They
didn’t when I was a student.”
    She pursed her lips. “No.
You’re right. I need a better plan.”
    “ Why don’t you take the
cutest picture you can, and then put up flyers where the commuter
students—and maybe some staff—will see them. Like at the credit
union and maybe the commuter lounge in the student
union.”
    She beamed. “That’s a
great idea.”
    I was just about to offer
to take a few photos for her, a skill I had honed in my mystery
shopping jobs, when Dr. Henriette Stubbs strode into the office.
She was a tall woman, built more like a man in that
straight-waisted, broad-shouldered way that Hollywood did not often
choose for their leading ladies. She gave me a cold look, as if I
had been caught stealing paperclips and was awaiting punishment.
The look she gave the temp was much, much colder. Brrr.
    “ What’s a great idea,
Kecia?” She looked between the two of us as if she suspected she
had caught us plotting a coup.
    She said, “While we were
waiting for you, Molly thought of a great way for me to get the
word out about the pups. I bet we’ll have them all sold by the end
of the week.”
    Henriette Stubbs looked at
me, her gaze slightly less frigid. “I hope so. Poor Sofie needs to
put this ordeal behind her. She can’t recover her figure until
those pups are gone for good.” She reached into the basket and took
the mama dog away from the pups, ignoring the soft whining of both
pups and mama. “Kecia, I have an urgent list of things for you to
do before the end of business today. Follow me.”
    The temp, whose name I now
knew was Kecia, gave me a look that clearly said, “what can you
do?” and followed Dr. Henriette Stubbs into her office, clutching a
notepad. The door closed. I heard a raised voice, and —
occasionally — a quiet, muffled response of no more than one word.
Probably yes, but I couldn’t hear it, so it was only
speculation.
    I took out my phone and
started the stopwatch function. Just how long was I supposed to
wait for this interview to begin? I had kids. I had a life. I had
places to be and people to see.
    At last, Kecia came out,
two jackets draped over her arm, dry cleaning forms clutched in her
hand with the notepad. She waved her pretty butterfly at me, to
indicate I should enter the domain of Dr. Henriette Stubbs,
possible boss and definite stone cold bitch.
     
    Dr. Henriette Stubbs had excellent taste. Her
office was modern and clean, without an ounce of clutter. That
suggested she was not disorganized. So being twenty minutes late
for the interview she herself had scheduled meant she intended to
show me who was boss. As if I wouldn’t have known it the moment I
laid eyes on her.
    In my time as a secret
shopper, I have come across every type of boss it was possible to
be. Compassionate, autocratic, hotheaded, absentee, bat-shit crazy,
control freak, organized, disorganized, unwilling, tense, laid
back, and utterly apathetic. That meant I could put Ms. Stubbs in
her niche in the boss pantheon without needing to think too hard
about it — autocratic control-freak, no question. But it didn’t
tell me how to deal with the interview when I wanted her to hire
me.
    I