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
"Shrimplover."







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.

Friday, February 10, 2017

Loud chewers and other terrible human beings.

I've been told that I'm annoyed at pretty much everything. Not gonna argue with that. The mere fact that the human race exists at all is annoying. I asked my boyfriend not to do something the other night and he said "I'll just add it to the list," as if I would need a physical list to remember all of the things that annoy me. In retrospect, that comment annoys me. Anyway, here's a comprehensive list of the outrageous things that people do just to make me insane.

1. Absolutely #1: Loud chewing! My parents chewed loudly during my rearing years. My dad's defense was that it "echoed throughout his skull." Both of my brothers and sister-in-law chew loudly. Also, my sister-in-law breathes loudly while she chews so that's a double-whammy. Do I have hypersensitive ears or is everyone else crazy? My classmates eat in class. I would rather starve to death than eat crunchy snacks in a classroom. No one else seems to notice! I don't understand. I should be a recluse with cats. Yeah, sometimes they chew loudly too but they know not what they do and they can't talk and they're fluffy.

2. Breathing, coughing or sneezing too loudly or too softly. If you've got a breathing problem, stop smoking and get a damn inhaler. I'm gonna do us all a favor and shout out a PSA to all you mouth breathers: Stop. Just stop. If that means holding your breath, well... Sneezing loudly has been an issue since my childhood. Both of my parents sneeze so loudly it sounds like a freight train crashing into another freight train filled with elephants and 5 metal bands. It was terrifying as a child and now only serves to piss me off. Now when I say "sneezing too quietly," I'm talking about what I like to refer to as "The Princess Sneeze." It's those girls who practiced their sneezes back in junior high so they would sound more feminine. You know, to make the sneeze sound cute instead of the disgusting snot/saliva geyser it really is. You're not fooling anyone, girls. I'm not saying you should go for the freight train elephant sneeze, I'm just saying stop being a weirdo.

3. Hipsters. You know, I've been accused of being a hipster on multiple occasions because apparently owning antiques and listening to music that doesn't suck makes you a hipster. However, this is certainly the worst, shall I say slander, that you could inflict upon me. Oh, the pretention! Oh, the vinyl records and ironic socks. Dammit, I just remembered I have a ring in my nose.

4. People who have never worked in the food service industry. You know the ones. They are for some reason under the impression that the server also doubles as the chef. They have gift cards and get a $100 meal for $13 and tip you off the $13. It's even better when they don't tip at all. I mean, I did deal with your charming demon child who almost tripped me with a tray of food because you're terrible parents who allow said demon child to run around a restaurant, but it's all worth it for my livelihood. Oh, no tip? Well hell. I should have dropped that tray of hot spaghetti on your kid.

5. Rich college kids with no jobs. (Mind you, I did attend OU my freshman year). Oh, you're 19 and you drive a Range Rover? That's cool. Actually it's not because you backed into my bicycle with it and now I have no transportation. Please ask your dad to send money for compensation. Oh, you get to volunteer and have a rich boyfriend and go out every night and get massages? The only massage I'll be getting is from my cat crawling on my back when I've passed out drunk on the floor after I fell into a toilet because my life as a working college student is really starting to get to me.

Friday, February 3, 2017

I blame the Prozac.

Weird people are the best kind. However, when you get called weird on a daily basis, sometimes multiple times, there are things to consider. Am I too weird? In the future dystopian society that I'm positive will arrive in my lifetime, will I be cast out of said society?

Usually when I fall asleep in the middle of the day for 13 hours or drink so much vodka that it is perpetually seeping out of my pores, I blame the Prozac. It's difficult to blame anything but yourself, though, when it is truly your weirdness coming out in all its glory. Here are a few examples of past behaviors that are apparently considered "weird."

I had a job interview at a book store last summer. I was super nervous and to make matters worse there were two interviewers rather than one. It was hotter than hell in this little room and they sat me on one of those metal chairs that's got, like, a vinyl cushion on it for your butt. My dress kind of came up when I sat there for what seemed like forever and my thighs were sweating hardcore. I couldn't concentrate on the interview because I was thinking about how when I stood up they would see the two giant pools of thigh sweat. Finally, when the interview was over, I decided the best thing to do would be to inform the gentlemen that I had left sweat on their chair because, (and this made perfect sense at the time), they would see it when I left and think I was gross. Another plus to my mentioning the thigh sweat would be an example of my honesty and integrity, which would surely get me the job. So I got up, shook hands with them and said "Hey, I sweat a lot on your chair." They said "Uh...that's ok." I said "Do you have a rag or something? I can clean it up." They said "No."

I didn't get the job.

The other day at school I was sitting next to this guy that I kind of know but not really. He seemed cool so I gave him a mint. I looked at the nutrition facts on the mints and it said a serving size was 14 mints. 14! I then proceeded to explain to my classmate that the serving size was 14 mints and would he mind eating 14 mints? He agreed so I counted out 14 mints. He ate them and said his mouth was "very minty." In my opinion, he's the weirdo in that situation.

Tonight at work this guy shows up at, like, 9:45 and wants some meat cut from the deli in which I work. We were already shutting things down and it is really annoying when people do that but technically we were still open. He asked if I could cut him some meat and I said, "Yeah but it will be a bit because I've got to wait until the slicer components get out of the dishwasher. He said never mind and he would just get prepackaged meat. Then my coworker (whose opinion I highly value), said I sounded rude. It really bothered me and then I saw him at the check out. I power walked to the man and said "Hey, was I rude to you earlier?" He seemed surprised and said "No, you're fine." I said "Ok. I just didn't want you to think I was being rude." Then I power walked back to the deli (power walking is my only speed), and said "I told you so" to my friend. She said "You chased him down? Who does that? You're so weird."

One thing that I will admit is weird is my obsession with smells and the fact that I really want my boyfriend to smell what I smell. My nose is very keen and curious. Sometimes my armpits smell like mildew. I force him to smell them or else I will divorce him even though we aren't technically married or even engaged.

I blow my nose at least 20 times daily. My boyfriend hates snot. Therefore, after I blow my nose into what my mom refers to as a "snot rag," I wad it up and place it somewhere on his body. He freaks out. It's hilarious. I also throw cold water on him when he's in the shower. He always screams "What the hell?!" in this Hank Hill-sounding way. He's not very good at cursing.