Tuesday, May 5, 2015

A Knife in the Hand & a House on the Rock

I miss having a knife in my hand. 
            Since I quit the shop, I haven’t been doing much with myself now that I’m a butcher-at-large.
            Nothing really productive, at least.
            Turns out, there aren’t many opportunities out there for meat cutters who can only work nights and weekends. 
            I got a promotion at my day job, which makes up for the lost income.
            And man, having weekends off is really nice. 
            I get to sleep in . . . went to Best of the Wurst . . .



saw the US Women’s National Team play against New Zealand (from the front row!) . . .


I’ve gone on motorcycle rides and hikes . . . and road tripped to unlikely places around the Midwest, taking pictures of weird stuff and drinking great beer (LOTS of beer).






 (Okay that one’s actually alcoholic root beer, but it’s 10% ABV.  Ten percent!)





*                     *                      *
After I leave on Valentine’s Day, Nicole walks into the back room to find Burt crumpled over in tears. 

            “What’s wrong?  What happened?”
            “She’s done.  She quit,” he sobs.
            “What?!”
            “She’s gone.”
            It takes Nicole a moment to gather herself, her thoughts and her words.  And then she explodes.  “YOU!  This is all! . . . You!  And Tommy’s fuckery! . . . And bullshit!  You drove her away . . . this is all your fault!”
            “She said she didn’t wanna trim tenderloin anymore,” Burt cries helplessly.
            “I don’t care what she told you, this is because of you two fuck ups!  You think she wants to clean up after you two every day?!  This is just great.  What’re we gonna do without her??”
           
*                      *                      *