Sour Tenderloin

I'm back... It's been awhile. The Peeter has been wearing me the hell out. I have a Valentine's Day post I'm still trying to edit... Give me a little time. Whew... Today was shitty. Mentos opened this morning, and the seafood display was FUBAR when I came in at three. She was stocking some frozen shrimp, and stayed just long enough to tell me to do some shit I already knew needed doing. I had not been in the department three minutes before Snarlie tried to recruit me into the dark side of the Meat Dept. "Shue-flayn!!! When ya not busy, go 'head and weigh up some leg quattahs!" I started calculating to myself... Hmmm. In the time it takes this fathead to nag me to do something, two cases of the leg quarters could have been priced, stickered, and sold. Leg quarters, pork tenderloin, baby back ribs, and other heavy items should just be delivered to my motherfucking house. At least I'd get a jump start and could avoid these crap-tastic customers. Got a real winner today. Ol girl was a centerfold in last month's Crackwhore Digest. I should have knew something was up with her in the first place. She had meth mouth, to start off. Here in the South, methamphetamine abuse runs rampant. I've seen some of my old skool-skippin buddies turned into zombies over that shit. Her daughter, probably about five, skulked around nervously in a cheap pink windbreaker as I took her order. "I need three filets(tenderloin steaks) cut 1 inch thick, ALL THE SAME SIZE." Picky ass customers are not unusual(unless they look like her, but I digress.)so I gave her order to Snarlie and told her it would be just a moment. He cut them up, and I handed them to her. Cost- $33.46. "Are these okay maaam?" She inspected the package, said "Yes, these are great!" and walked off. I shit you not- 10 minutes later, around five, Snarlie decides to take a lunch at our busiest hour. BFD- happens every day, but today, as soon as his skinny ass disappeared into the wine aisles, this fucktard pops back up. "I just need to ask you a question, before anything. Does this look like they are all the same size???" She thrust the bloody package of meat into my face. I wanted to smack her. The third steak was smaller than the other two- of all the trifling dirtbags, Snarlie had to fuck it up for her. "No, maam." She let me have it. "I drive all the way home, get there, see this- they are not the same size! They are supposed to be on the table, right now!" I immediatley drop to my knees and begin to lick and kiss her taint lovingly. "Maam, I am so sorry that you had to come all the way back out here because of this. Let me just get the butcher." I ducked around the corner, anxious to get her stinky ass out my face, when I realized that the Shmuck had gone to lunch. Oh, God help me, please. Now there is someone else in line. When I tell her that he's gone to lunch, I can almost see the dollar signs in her eyes. I am frantically trying to figure out a way to solve her problem that did not wind up with me getting fired. I finally said, "Maam, I will try to cut you some steaks back here, to the best of my ability, but I really don't know how to"- cut off. "It's NOT hard! You take the knife, and you cut it. Yall are a MEAT department. You should know how to cut a steak." I tried, feebly, to tell the wench that I work in seafood, and any attempts I make to learn anything about meat are turned into crude sex jokes. So I hauled out the flattened half of the loin that was left in the cooler. Before I left the cooler, I did a few woo-sahs and tried to imagine a beach in my childhood, anything to make me calm down. I slapped it on the white cutting block, holding back tears. Tenderloin is not cheap. I swear to God, I did not want to take a knife to this expensive primal and foul it up, to get yelled at more by my co-workers. I gave up after cutting one. I let her know that I could not do it, well, and she started up again. "How hard is it? I used to work in a butcher shop!" Well guess what, bitch? I DON'T!! I work in SEAFOOD. These sorry fucks are too cheap to hire another motherfucker back here, so we all have to pick up each other's slack. I wanted to tell her to strap on an apron and have at it. Seriously. But she wanted me to go find the store manager. So I went and found Hee-Haw, who paged Snarlie back from his lunch break. He had to cut six more steaks until he "Got it right." This sea-hag walked away with thirty dollars worth of tenderloin steak without paying for shit. Maybe she can use some of that money she saved to buy her child some shoes without holes. I hope she chokes. Hee Haw is so afraid of corporate Hairy Peter, he will practically take a customer in the back room and give them a BJ if it will make them happy. Word on the grapevine is that we failed four LP audits in a row. It can only get better, hopefully.