When I walk in, the shop is silent. I put my purse down in the back, my breakfast
and lunch in the cooler; grab an apron, and take my knife kit to the cutting
board. I think about calling out to
Tommy, but then think better of it. He’s
probably in his office, enjoying the lull.
I won’t bother him. In fact, the
quiet is nice. He most certainly heard
me come in—the guy has ears like a cat.
There
was no car parked out back, so I assume that Grace dropped him off and then
went to run her errands, which happens often.
I do my usual routine: put away
the clean(ish) dry dishes from the previous day; wash any dirty ones waiting in
the sink; dump the cold water from the rag buckets and replace it with warm
water, soap, and bleach. Both boards are
a little dirty, and all the knives are as well, so I give them all a good
scrubbing.
I check the case; it looks
pretty full. The filets in there look
like shit, so I can’t do any of those yet.
If I put any of mine in there, the old ones won’t get bought, and they
need to get sold first since they’ve been sitting there since yesterday. Pretty sure I still need to cut some for gift
boxes though, let me check. . . . In the freezer I quickly find the box of
individually wrapped six-ounce filets that I started and filled last week. I needed 72.
I cut 72. The box now has
24. So that’s what I get started on.
There are some tenderloins
already trimmed in the cooler; I’ll save those for when we get busy, or if
someone asks for a filet with no bacon.
Soon, Kyle and John walk in.
“Just you today,” Kyle states
rather than asks.
I cock my head to the side,
indicating my confusion.
“Tommy’s in a black hole; he
hasn’t been here all week.”
That’s why it’s so quiet.
It’s funny how they gave him
off last Saturday specifically so that they could try and prevent him from going
into a black hole during the holidays this year. I remember thinking that giving him a day off
would only delay the inevitable.
