Posted on 02/26/2011 1:38:34 PM PST by Squawk 8888
I’m not the wiener peeler, I’m the wiener peeler’s son, And I’m only peeling wieners, ‘Til the wiener peeler comes.
I apologize to pheasant pluckers’ sons everywhere for stealing their tongue-twister.
But who can resist when my Internet fairy, Irene, drops this job ad on my desk? “Get out your resume,” she purrs.
I pause in processing Moonlight Lady submissions, and take a boo.
“Full-time Wiener Peeler,” says the ad.
Wazzat? I ask. A red-hot stripper?
“No. As in weenie. It’s got you written all over it, ” says Irene, and she flutters off.
Well, I’m getting sick of grinding out daily columns like hamburger. So I read on.
“Opportunity. Excitement. Teamwork. Respect.
“At Maple Leaf Foods we are committed to attracting, rewarding and retaining talented people who are passionate about making a positive impact in their professional and personal lives every day.”
A noble mission. What better way to pursue it than as a bona fide full-time professional wiener peeler. The opening is at Maple Leafs’ hotdog plant in Hamilton.
Imagine the awe when you tell fellow partiers your occupation.
Picture the lineup of schools recruiting for career days.
The teachers may giggle, but the kids will scream for free samples.
You’re on Price Is Right and Drew Carey says, “What d’ya do for a living up in Canada, Mikey?”
I peel wieners, Drew.
“Good for you. Wiener peeler. Hmmm. reminds me, folks, get your pets spayed or neutered.”
Anyway, I check around and find yet another job opening at Maple Leaf. Wiener stuffer. Hit it ...
I’m not the wiener stuffer
I’m the wiener stuffer’s son
I’m only stuffing ...
(Ed. note: Stop that, you hotdogger, or we’ll make you pose for a picture like Gilles Duceppe in the silly hairnet.)
NO! Not that! I’ll do anything, boss.
The photo of Duceppe in a cheese factory was a body blow to the Bloc. He looked like a weenie. Un chien chaud. Un hotdog.
I wonder. How do wiener peelers and stuffers look? All dressed?
I call Linda Smith at Maple Leaf Foods and ask: What company wit came up with those job titles?
“They’re in the union contract,” she says. “They’re really a kind of food-processing operator.”
So machines do the actual stuffing and peeling. Thank God. I can’t imagine sitting there all day, fingers numb, going, “hundred thousand and one weenies, hundred thousand and two weenies, hundred thousand and ...”
The wiener stuffer fills the tubular collagen casings with hot dog sludge. Since you asked, the ooze typically comprises mechanically separated chicken, pork, beef, water, wheat gluten, salt, sodium phosphate, spice, dextrose, corn syrup solids, sodium erythorbate, garlic powder, onion powder, sodium nitrite and smoke.
If you need to ask what mechanically separated chicken is, don’t.
Or go eat a veggie burger.
Once the dogs have been divided and smoked and solidified, the wiener peeler removes the casings.
The stuffer and peeler look like hazmat officials or Apollo astronauts.
They wear blue rubber and plastic head to toe, with hairnet, hardhats and mask. Plus earmuffs. Yes. All those dogs barking.
The hirings, says Smith, are to gear up for summer, when 60% of wieners are sold.
What a great job, eh?
I assume you get to take home any bent, twisted or otherwise defective wieners.
And you’d be in the pantheon of careers with chicken sexer, pet food tester, bounty hunter, odor reader, fortune cookie writer, golf ball diver and newspaper hack.
Plus, you’re wrapped in a soft, warm union. The Brotherhood of Bun Fillers (BBF), or whatever it’s called.
I can picture the negotiations:
“We want a raise, a longer lunch, three weeks holiday, dental coverage and pension improvements.
“But hold the mustard.”
We had a Sister (of the Holy Child Jesus) in our parish who was in the Coast Guard in World War II. She was a pharmacist’s assistant in San Francisco. It must have been very exciting for a single girl.
My father and uncles have rarely talked about their war experiences in my hearing. I think some details came out at the deer cabin when everyone was drinking, but those were “no women” evenings!
Bleorgh.
That good, huh?
There are good ships and there are wood ships, the ships that sail the sea.
But the best ships, are friendships, and may they always be.
Many Happy Returns of the Day to you, Seaman Anoreth.
How sweet! I’d never seen that before.
Of course, I was deep into finalizing the technical additions to my London talk so i wouldn't have to lug a big binder with me on the trip. But that's done, so "all" I have to do is to find some new art to replace existing art, to shift the theme from "Old Masters" to "American" (as seen by those the other side of the pond -- Wild West would be good if I could find the right things).
Happy Birthday! It’s my niece’s birthday too.
Good night, all. Tomorrow starts early...
Search for Frederic Remington or Charles Russell. Classic Western art, and lots of images are in the public domain.
I just finished watching “Chicago” (the musical film) with Tom, and am shoo-ing him and Bill off to bed. DP and Elen are in Myrtle Beach visiting his mother, and the rest of the Offspring went to bed a long time ago.
Yes.
Lost my cat last night.
She was sick, hyperthyroid, and had bad complications.
One of them being a large growth on her side.
[cancer]
Put to sleep at 2145 hours last night.
Oh, I’m sorry. It’s so sad to lose a pet who has been with you a long time.
It was rough.
I was at work, so I couldn’t be there.
I’m sorry. I couldn’t be with Wednesday, either, but I’m sure she understood at whatever level they process.
Some of the NC guys say it’s snowing in their zipcodes, but we just have cold rain. Unhappy mammals and reptiles with no Sunbeam Time.
Arrived in Nashville in good order, but very tired. Texted coworker, but I guess he hasn't arrived yet. So I'm out to pharmacy for some cold meds, then somewhere for dinner, then to crash. The fun starts tomorrow.
Your panicky insecurity may now subside; I have returned.
Happy Birthday, Anoreth. Many happy waking moments.
O hai. I’m being tired, cold, and damp. The last obnoxious blast of winter; some of the NC guys had snow today. Ash is Deeply Dissatisfied.
And Anoreth is incommunicada. Maybe they’ve put to see already.
Co-worker: “lost in transmission, being monitored by bunny.”
Bizarre message from beyond..
Kearen wasn’t a cuddle cat, she was a sit next to you and watch movies cat.
I sea.
But that was why my message was of lasting and permanent import. Like all of them.
Don't you ever export?
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