Tales from the Service Counter pt. 5

The other day, I was talking with a co-worker about a customer who came in one evening while I was in the middle of closing the dept. The customer was looking to have a large amount of steaks cut with a specific thickness. At the time, I apologized to the customer and told him I couldn't do it because the cutting room was cleaned and, furthermore, the dept was technically closed because it was after 9 p.m. As I told this story to my co-worker, he nodded and then said, " I would have cut the order for him." This caught my attention.
"Really?" I asked. He nodded again. "It wouldn't have taken that long and I like cutting besides." He answered. I was stunned into silence. My co-worker took that to mean our conversation was over and walked away.

The rest of my shift I thought on what he had said. Combined with other small details I knew about him I came to the realization that my co-worker had complete job satisfaction. The idea was novel and I had a hard time believing it so I asked him outright. "Yeah," he said. "I like cutting meat, the hours are guaranteed, the customers are generally nice and for the most part, I like my co-workers." I was silent again, but not from shock this time, but jealousy.

I struggled to think of the jobs I'd worked and if any of them gave me complete satisfaction. I thought of three, two in within journalism, one in education, but as I thought of each, a single fact reminded me that while these jobs were great, they did not offer complete satisfaction. Not enough hours, tumultuous workplace, unpaid. There was always something.

While I am envious of my co-worker, his situation give me some hope. Perhaps there is an ideal job out there for everyone. I haven't found mine yet, but I will.

Tales from the Service Counter pt. 4

WARNING!! THE FOLLOWING POST CONTAINS GRAPHIC MATERIAL.




Last Sunday, I cut myself. It didn't hurt nearly as much as I thought it would.

While cutting a special order for a customer, I poked my left palm, just under the pinkie, with the tip of the knife. The sudden shock made me jerk my hand away and stretch it to combat the pain. As I did that, my skin popped and split.

No longer a bloody mess

The laceration didn't seem too deep until I cleaned it under some running water. I was able to see that I had cut all the way through the various layers of skin on my palm to expose some of the muscle beneath.

Lidocaine numbs my hand

I wrapped the cut with paper towels and tape to keep it from bleeding everywhere while I drove myself to the emergency room. Once there, I was informed that I would need stitches to close the wound.

Six stitches

The MD worked deftly on my hand, first applying lidocaine, a local anesthetic which made the side of my palm feel like I had fallen asleep on it. Next, he cleaned the area with water and what I think was iodine. Then, he began the process of stitching my skin closed. It felt like an odd pressure on my palm as he pulled the thread through the gash, sowing it closed. Towards the end of the stitching, it began to hurt as he poked the needle through skin that wasn't numb.

All patched up

The area was cleaned again and wrapped in a enough white gauze to form a pseudo boxing glove over my left hand.

I drove myself back to work and finished my shift.

Tales from the Service Counter pt. 3

Another true story about the people I deal with at my retail job...

I had an interesting conversation with Isaac recently. Once again, I was stuck working a closing shift with him and despite the fact that we got done early it was not without the following interaction.

I came back from my break to find Isaac melting the ice in the seafood service case. As I walked up, he looked up and squeezed the hose shut to speak to me.

"I don't know why, but it always takes so long to melt the ice. Like twenty minutes. You know?" He said.
"Well, it's an endothermic reaction..." I replied.
"Yeah... Wait, what?" Isaac said.
"Endothermic, a reaction that draws in heat from its environment," I explained. He furrowed his brow and looked like he was concentrating and it required effort. Then his eyes glazed over. I could almost see "does not compute" scroll across his forehead. I sighed.

"When you spray the ice with the hot water from the hose the ice melts because the water is at a higher temperature than the ice. The ice absorbs the heat from the hot water to find a balance which is the mix of ice and water you get," I said. He began to nod vigorously.
"That's why the water isn't hot when it's done melting the ice because the ice cools it off," he exclaimed. I just looked at him.

Isaac went back to melting the ice as I walked behind the service counter and put my white coat back on.
"Dude, you're smart. You could be, like a teacher or something," he said. "I didn't even know they had scientific words for melting ice!"

I just shook my head.

Tales of the Service Counter pt. 2

A funny moment happened during my close this evening. As I was melting the ice in the service counter I noticed movement out of the corner of my eye.

I looked up and spyed a woman meandering towards my area, stopping to browse the selections in the various bunkers in the aisle.

She was wearing a tight-fitting cotton dress that stopped a few inches above her knees. As she moved it would pull seductively along her hips. Her skin was the color of coffee and cream, her hair, brown and shoulder-length with tan highlights.

Her flipflops smacked softly on the tile floor.

It was difficult to get a look at her face because she had a phone to her ear and was constantly looking down at contents of the bunkers. She's pretty, I thought. I was prepared to let that be the end of it. But, as she walked by the counter, she looked up at me.

I made a grunting noise in my throat as if I had been punched in the stomach. My head jerked back involuntarily.

Her face looked like a Billy Goat I had seen in a petting zoo at the Fort Worth Stockyards.

I attempted to smile to cover my reaction. She smiled back and continued walking away from me through the rest of my area.

She had a great ass.