With everyone else gone, I got
promoted pretty fast. Max has lime
disease so he’s not even helping out for the holidays, I haven’t seen Miles in
several weeks, and I (thankfully) have no clue where Luke Johnson is.
I’ve been here every weekend since I
got back from visiting my baby brother in Maryland mid-October. I decided to view Burt’s shop as a stepping
stone—I’m not sure where I’ll be stepping to—but
it’s given me renewed motivation to hunker down and devote my weekends to meat
cutting. Tommy even mentioned talking to
Grace about getting me some night hours once the Thanksgiving rush begins. I will be The Night Butcher! I love it.
And, it doesn’t hurt that they really and truly need my help right now.
I
stand across from Tommy at the large white cutting board in the front of the
store, cleaning and sharpening the two knives that I will use all day: one small boning knife with a slight
curvature, and one large evil-looking scimitar with a twelve-inch blade and a
wicked swerve to it.
Nicole rings customers out, and
charms them with conversation and free samples.
“At least you’re quiet,” Tommy
mutters under his breath.
Nicole is going through a divorce
right now.
Tommy keeps calling Nicole a
lesbian.
He also keeps taking my knives. He has eight knives on his side of the board—eight.
Yet every time I turn around, one of mine is gone. So I get a new one, clean and sharpen it, and
then he takes that one. So I take back the first one I had. This continues ad infinitum.