The Godfather

The other day I went to the lone butcher for a brisket. But let me explain…

It’s filthy. It stinks of bleach and blood. It’s filthy.

So…why shop there, you wonder?

Because it’s the only kosher butcher on the island and he’s got every Jew by the matzah balls, that’s why.

So there I was, ordering my brisket with my eyes shut, and I heard a sneeze from the man behind the counter getting my meat. Of course I asked if he sneezed on my food and of course, he replied, “no,” as if I was crazy to presume otherwise.

But the sneeze was just a minor incident in the entire scenario; that’s because the man then placed my meat on the filthy scale, and then onto the blood stained cutting board.

I know, talk about cross contamination- blech!

But even that’s not the worst part. The worst part was the man then packaged the meat, rung up the order, scratched his head and then proceeded to hand me a pen. A pen! As if I was going to take it and sign my name.

(In case you’re wondering, I used my own pen)

About Lady in Red

mom of 3
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