Cheap Vodka Never Tasted So Good!

Last night after cleaning up the butcher shop and clocking out, I poured some cheap vodka into 5 paper cups sitting on the counter where we cut up the chickens. Larry, Gaspar, Daniel, Drew, Kenya and I are the closing shift.

I work an eight hour shift on Saturday’s from open to close. I clock in at 10:00 and begin to tag the meat and fish for a 10:30 opening. I am jazzed. All in all, I’ve felt good at the chop shop the last three weeks. I’ve even been having fun. I know I am more relaxed and loose. I still grip the blade handle tight, and often saw through meat rather than cutting smoothly. I am also chopping up whole chickens, taking skin off fish, winging it on ideas and recommendations with customers, (one trick/wise approach is, when a customer tentatively asks how I would prepare a cut after they tell me how they would do it, to bring the conversation back around to doing it their way. I figure that, like me, their intuition is spot on anyway)

We get ready to open. The shop vibe is good.

Olin, the manager, asks, “You ready, Moe?”

“Fuck yeah!” is my reply.

“Moe, I know why I adore you!”, Olin replies.

Yes, I am bragging and proud. It’s nice to know the ways you are leaving your mark.

One of the first customers is a jacked Asian man holding a cup of coffee. He speaks fast and loud. He asks a lot of questions.

I joke with Larry afterwards.

“It’s going to be an interesting day” I say.

And it is. We are consistently busy. Olin encourages me to cut my first pork roast out of a pork shoulder. Open the flap, cut it off at an angle, trim the tapered edge, weigh to gage how much excess to cut for customer, eyeball how much to cut, cu, trim, weigh, wrap, sell and vacuum pack the leftover for scrap to be used in making sausages.

I am noticing that my work in dealing with customers is becoming second nature. Pulling meat, wrapping, moving around the gang, working the register, moving the customers through, doing the little things that makes the work a little easier for everyone else. There is little hesitation in my action. There is flow. It feels good.

I am working a lot with beef chuck today. 2–3 different customers want cubes for stew. I am taking my time. Kenya gooses me up and shows me how to save time.

During break I slice an avocado in two, remove pit, salt the meat and eat it with a spoon.

Most of my lunch break is spent pricing for a cheap bottle of vodka at Albertson’s and the nearby liquor store. The pint of Kamchatka at the liquor store is $3.19. I return to the store. The older man at the counter is glaring at me. WTF? This is about him, not about about me. I ask him for the Vodka bottle behind the counter. He rings it up and runs my ATM card. I look at the receipt. It says $3.49. I don’t trust him.

The heat of his glare is strong.

“I don’t get this. The cost was $3.19.”

“There is state tax”

“It doesn’t say that on this receipt.”

He turns to the register, rips off the receipt, and slams it on the counter in front of me. I see the tax. It’s $.40.

Ok. Nothing else I need to say to this guy. I walk out. What an ass! I get a cup of coffee and get five minutes in reading my book about the Berlin Airlift.

The rest of the shift seems like it is devoted to customers who all want New York strips. I am faced with challenges of cutting off fat and maintaining the curve and shape of the cut. Mine show edges. This is something I am going to have Nate or Olin show me later on. It is 5:00PM. I see Danny begin cleaning the back counter. We are beginning to close.

I see Jimmy, the gardener from the Hollywood Market come though the doors. Our mutual greeting is two notches below explosive. We are both surprised and glad to see each other. He’s been coming to the shop for years. I tell him I generally work the morning shift. That’s probably why I haven’t seen him until now. He wants 3 NY Strips (of course) We talk about preparation. He uses butter. I mention that, when in doubt, go with butter and thyme. He nods approvingly. I cut him his three strips, cussing at myself for the edges I am still leaving on the fat.

Kenya locks the doors and draws the shades. Drew works at icing and storing the fish for the next day. Larry cater-wraps the meats and puts them back into the reefer unit. Gaspar is in back washing dishes. I wipe down the counters and make sure that the retail has been restocked

I finish pouring the shots of vodka. Kenya is going to shoot water instead. Danny asks me,

“You’re 56?”

“Yes, it’s weird. It’s really weird” I reply.

Drew chimes in, “You’re rocking it, Moe”

The six of us grab our paper cups and lift them towards the ceiling. The lights are bright. The shop is clean.

“Here’s to us standing by our friends when they need us. And may we have the wisdom to know when to pick our fights”

We all laugh, cheer and down our shots.

Cheap vodka never tasted so good.