2007-04-20: Packing Advice


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While packing Lachlan up for his move to a new apartment, Cass gives him some advice on how to better approach customers with his dog business. Accents are mocked. Yes, mocked.

April 20th, 2007:

Packing Advice

Lachlan's Apartment - Brooklyn

A part of moving is packing, and though Lachlan had little time to actually unpack /everything/ in his apartment, he still has to pack up things. That's what he's doing now, and since Cass said she'd help, he called her over to do so. Bonnie isn't helping; she's just hanging out on the couch watching the people forlornly. As he stuffs a few clothes into a box, the Scotsman sighs and grumbles, "Dunno why I even bother with the dog business. Nobody knows how ta take care o' their bloody dogs."

Arms filled with bedclothes destined for another half filled box, Cass frowns at Lachlan. "But…isn't that what you're supposed to be telling them to do? If they knew how to take care of them, they wouldn't come to you." She pats Bonnie as she passes by the forlorn looking puppy, but doesn't stop. Dropping the sheets and blankets onto the floor, she carefully makes sure everything is folded before stacking it one at a time into it's proper box. "So it's not going well?"

Folding? Stacking? What are these concepts? It's no wonder Lachlan had so many boxes when he moved into this apartment: generally, he doesn't have a lot of stuff, but he packs very poorly. Everything /he/ has is just dumped into a box and allowed to fall where it may. He goes into the bedroom for another load, calling over his shoulder as he does: "Nah, s'no' doin' great. Met a guy inna park t'day blowin' a bloody /dog whistle/ an' hurtin' half the dogs inna park. Tol' 'im off an' he said he'd hire me ta train 'is dog, but … who the bloody hell uses a /dog whistle/?" Back with another armful of laundry, he dumps it into another box that contains what look to be dishes. He doesn't /organize/ his boxes either, apparently. "Daft."

Sheets and blankets folded, Cass stands up and stares at Lachlan. "Wait. You /yelled/ at someone and he hired you? That's pretty unusual." As he wanders into the bedroom, she follows slowly behind. "Is…is that something you do a lot? Yell at the people who bring their dogs to you?" Perhaps she has found the source of his flagging dog business. Bad customer service. Nearing the box he just 'packed', she smirks and kneels down to fold it's contents and make it a bit more compact. Less things they have to move the less time it will take.

"Nah. Just tell 'em 'bout how ta take care o' their dogs." In other words: yes, he yells at people who bring their dogs to him. "S'no' m'fault they canna take it." Lachlan grabs another pile of laundry — the last of it — from the bed and starts for another box — but there are no more empty boxes, so he stands there looking around helplessly. Crud.

Knowing the double meaning of that, Cass looks up at the helpless Lachlan and grins. "Here, there's more room in this box now. Help me fold those up and they'll fit." She will teach him the alien ways of folding. "That might be your problem, Lachlan. People don't really like to be yelled at. If you were nicer in your advice, I think you'd get more business. You're obviously the best person for the job, considering what you can do."

Folding? /What/? And walk around dressed in clothes that /aren't/ wrinkled and awful-looking? Foreign concept, that. Lachlan strides over and dumps the clothes on the floor near the box, then kneels down to horribly mimic Cass' folding techniques. "'M the best fer the job, I know. S'no' m'fault people're daft, an' s'no' m'fault they dunna like bein' tol' 'bout it." Wait, wait. This shirt does not look nearly the same as the one she folded. He frowns at it, then tries again.

"No no, fold the sleeves behind it," Cass instructs softly, significantly slowing down her own folding so that she can show Lachlan the proper way to do it. "Well, just because you're the best for the job doesn't mean people are going to hire you. You need to be nice to your customers so they /want/ to come back. Just because they're stupid doesn't mean you have to /tell/ them that." Trying to teach the Scot how to do proper customer service might be laughable to some, but Cass knows that it's possible for Lachlan to do it. She's seen it. "Peter got a new dog and I told him that he should see you about training it. He's nervous about it since he doesn't really know you. So, you be nice to him."

Wait, Peter? Has a dog? And … but … Lachlan frowns, pausing in his folding, then he resumes it and manages to get it /somewhat/ correct. The shirt is then held out to Cass to do with as she sees fit. "But if I dunna tell 'em, they'll no' know wha' they're doin' is stupid." Duh. C'mon, Cass, even /he/ knows /that/ one. It's, like, Cause and Effect 101. "When'd Peter get a dog?"

It's Lachlan's shirt and it's folded to well enough, so Cass just puts it right into the box without need to fix it any further. "Yeah, but there's a difference." Looking up from her folding, she watches Lachlan. "There's this way:" And then, without warning, she slips into a Scottish accent, obviously imitating Lachlan, "Yer a righ' daft bastard fer usin' a dog whistle." It's not really /that/ bad of an impression, but, still it's not quite the same as Scottish. Just as quick as it came, it's gone and she's talking in her American accent again. "And then there's this way: Using a dog whistle isn't good for your dog and it actually works against you. You shouldn't use one any more." She raises her eyebrows as if to say, see? Can you choose which one is better? Then, she smiles and shrugs. "I don't know, exactly. He brought Snowy by this morning when he came over for some help. She's adorable. Fluffy white puppy. Curious. You'll love her."

Wh— /hey/! Lachlan blinks once or twice at Cass' impersonation, and then his face contorts into a half-scowl, half-pout. "Dunna sound like /tha'/," he protests in a grumble. He doesn't. His voice is /deeper/ and more /rugged/. "Yer so good at it, why no' do it yerself?" Because she's obviously not busy enough. Her point is driven home, however, and that much is obvious.

"Yer right." Now Cass can't help it. She's going to /keep using/ the Scottish accent. Because it's making him pout. But, also, since she's doing it out of teasing and is having a harder time to keep a straight face, the accent is even /worse/ this time. Though it took Lachlan awhile to fold his two shirts, she's made quick work of them and put them all into the box. Wonder of wonders, it fits! That done, she scoots over and makes to sit right on his lap and wrap her arms around him. "Aw, honey, don' give me tha' face. I've been doin' customer service for years now." Can she keep this up much longer without laughing? It's hard to tell. "I'll help you."

Hey, /two/ can play this game. When Cass climbs into his lap, Lachlan naturally wraps his arms around her waist to hold her there and stares into her face with the frown of a man who /knows/ he's being teased and, while not taking offense, isn't laughing much at it either. Hardee-har-har, /Cass/. "I've been doing customer service for years now," he falsettos, imitating an American accent — and not doing /too/ splendidly at it. The inherent Scottish still leaks through. "I'll help you." /Grin/. Then he moves in for a quick kiss. "Thank ye." That one's said in his normal voice.

It's just so much fun to tease Lachlan. Because he gets that /look/ on his face that Cass adores. Oh, but when he makes fun of /her/ accent, she gapes. "I don't sound like /that/!" But, then, she's laughing. "You make a horrible American girl, Lachlan." Not even attempting to try the Scottish accent again, she sticks with her own voice. "You're welcome." The quick kiss is reciprocated and, indeed, she carefully tightens her grip on him as she attempts to elongate it.

Well, Cass would make a horrible Scottish man, but Lachlan isn't about to say this because he's /otherwise/ occupied. Hmmhmmhmm. Kisses. And since he doesn't have his stitches anymore, well, he's definitely more than happy to keep right on kissing and wherever else it might lead. It's been over a /week/ — it's not like he's going to say no.

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