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.”
i don't think I'd want to use Sireenian tea in the office! My whitepapers would look very odd. I mean, they do already, but still odd. Or something like that. Or not.
What were we talking about?
Who did you say you were?
Why are you holding that knife?
Oooooh, shiny.....
It would probably be easier to drive over there. I called the 800 number and got such a long series of menus that it wasn’t worth the time it took to hold.
Next time I’m in the area, I’ll stop in. I’m over that about once a month.
See what happens when you have no meetings or teleconferences to attend?
Are you feeling better?
See? It can't be Monday. ;-)
I have a little leftover “Don’t remember where I am”, want that?
I think the papers would be tring to rebel.
“Hey! Watch where you point that pen!”
Um, no thanks. I have enough of that.
Got any extra “Getting a good understanding of what life is about”?
Tring!
Trying...
I could use some of that myself.
Let me know if you find a supply cache of it.
Since raising chickens may be too complicated, I am considering raising Guinea Pigs for meat.
That will not solve the egg problem.
I know they do that in other countries, and if you want to be technical, you are in another country, but I don't think that's really socially acceptable on this continent, at least the northern part of it.
Rabbits you could probably get away with. The meat is very lean.
Now as to chickens; there are two basic types: chickens raised for their meat, and chickens which produce eggs.
Technically again, they both do, but with fryers you don't have to care if you have a lot of males. And they can live more or less communally, because they will have a very Hobbesian existence.
Laying hens, on the other hand, will require little apartments and other modest appurtenances. They will provide a regular rental payment in return in the form of fresh eggs.
To a dedicated farmer, meat in the freezer always means that the contract you strike with the animals is a very hard bargain.
To someone more inclined to be a dilettante, having animals around and being on good terms with them might be preferable. You can pipe music in for the laying hens and be as friendly as you like.
But those whose destiny is the freezer, you don't want to get personal with.
I’ll check on it before I mail it, just because it’s strangely heavy. If there’s additional gunk in there, I don’t want to pay higher postage! USPS doesn’t guarantee overnight, for all they charge an arm and a leg, but Priority Mail should have it there by Thursday. ‘Face’s Girl Scout cookies got to her in two days, in the Medium Flat-Rate Box.
But it HAAAAAS TO BEEEE! WHAT AM I GOING TO DOOOOOO....
Oh waittaminute.
The workday's over.
And I even got some work done. As in work work, not just work.
But it's teleconferences every day forward now.
Can I just stay in Monday?
I need some more Sireenian tea. Oooooh, shiny Monday!
A bit. I did some reading over the weekend where it was suggested that some "relaxing" teas could help. My experience today suggests they could -- a lot. I don't really care for chamomile, but there are others.
Oh, it’s strangely heavy because there’s a t-shirt and a poster in there. I’ll mail those, too. Ugh, Bill is cooking something for Second Supper that smells horrible.
(pause)
But it’s just burning ham-and-cheese tortillas. Why does everyone have to cook everything with the gas on high?
What on earth are "ham-and-cheese tortillas"?
Or maybe I just don't want to know.
Take flour tortilla, very inexpensive in large quantities at your Carolina del Norte Walmart. Place in skillet. Put slice of cheese (swiss, in this case) and slice of ham on tortilla. Heat until cheese melts. Fold in half, and heat on both sides until tortilla is slightly browned. Eat, getting cheese and scorched tortilla bits on the recliner, if you’re Bill, just to show you’re in a snit over being told to turn the radio off.
If the gas is on too high, the tortilla will burn before the cheese melts, just like with a grilled-cheese sandwich. That was what I smelled. Sometimes the fire alarm goes off, too.
An egg, some chopped ham, a bit of cheese and some hot sauce wrapped up in a tortilla, yum.
I’ve used tortillas interchangeably with bread most of my life. There was a period in which you couldn’t find flour (let alone whole-wheat) tortillas at reasonable prices outside the Southwest, but that has changed.
If he was that hungry, he could have heated up the leftover sausage-noodle casserole (from First Supper, before Sunday School and Boy Scouts) in the microwave in 30 seconds. But he was too picky for that.
Sounds like a quesadilla, as best as I can guess.
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