Tuesday, February 21, 2017

Deli is Life. Life is Deli.

Working in the deli is fine because my boss is "bossome" and my customers are generally pretty cool. Anyone who's worked in customer service knows that you get "those people." The "I need to speak with your manager" people. The people with 7 screaming kids using food stamps so they can save their cash for cigarettes and beer. The people who are hypochondriacs and believe they are gluten intolerant. Then you have the ones who are on special fad diets that they read about and really have absolutely no idea about nutrition. Regardless, deli is life and life is deli.

This is my coworker, Krystle. She's pretty much the best person ever except she nearly blinded me with the scan gun. Cunning fox of a woman.

This is a picture of ice that I thought was cool. No real explanation other than that.

This is a tray rack from the bakery dept. which is connected to our dept.
They are always in the way and when pushed across the floor make the
most terrible sound I've ever heard. Also, those muffin trays weigh, like, 15 pounds.
No exaggeration. Why would one need such heavy-
duty equipment to produce such moist and light-weight
treats? It's a weird sort of oxymoron. Like jumbo shrimp.
There I go with the shrimp again. I should rename this blog

These are the bakery ovens. They are terrifying. You could fit probably 10 humans in this. I don't think I've mentioned the fact that I've got a weird interest in cannibalism. I don't even like meat that much and am certainly no Hannibal Lector. I just like to be prepared in case some crazy stuff goes down on this here planet and we run out of food. I certainly won't be the first to go.

Rotisserie chickens. The bane of my existence. You put 21 raw chickens into an oven for 2 hours. You take the chickens out and put them into containers and make labels for the lids. You put the lids on and take the chickens out to the chicken table. At the end of the night you shred the leftover chickens. This is done about 3 times daily. It is a terrible and monotonous routine and makes me depressed for the chickens who sometimes die in vain.  

These are labels.

This is Krystle again really embodying the true spirit of the deli. Don't mistake her facial expression for misery. We in the deli consider that a look of pure pleasure.

This is a close-up of a dead fish from the meat dept. I touched it and also I touched its eyeball. Both were very slimy and gelatinous. I just thought this picture was interesting. Sometimes the meat guys cut off the fish's heads and it's very disturbing to say the least.

Here are the real money makers. Get you some Liverwurst.
These are ciabattas that we make sandwiches with. Apparently the bakery won't make them for us anymore because they are the spawns of Satan so we make them now. We are not bakers! Deli people unite! All of our ciabattas look and taste like they were run over by a 4-wheeler and then set out in the snow overnight. And then burned with a blowtorch.

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