I went to work in the commissary of my grocery store chain's today. And for those of you who, like myself, did not know what the word 'commissary' means until today:
A catering facility, restaurant, or any other place in which food, containers, or supplies, are kept, handled, prepared, packaged or stored; A distribution facility that prepares, stores, or supplies food to a mobile unit or other retail food facilities.*Yeah. Quotes. It's where they make most of the stuff they sell in the deli (potato salad, macaroni, wraps, salads, etc.).
Anyway, it's a pretty small grocery store chain, only 8 stores in the Lower Mainland of BC but, at Christmastime especially, there is a lot of food going through that kitchen. And a lot of turkey, most of which, I must have vacuum sealed today for four hours. So much turkey.
I have these conversations to entertain myself or whatever as I place turkey roast after turkey roast in the bags and onto the sealer thing (official name unknown).
One such conversation I made up with a boy who I knew when we were eleven/twelve but haven't seen very much of in recent years except for through his sister and sometimes when it so happens that we are both working in the kitchen that his dad managesMe: I am very close to placing my head in one of these vacuum bags and sealing it. That's how bored I am.
Me: So suicide jokes are funny to you?
Me: Yeah, that's what I thought. Also, nice hat.
Anyhow, I'm exhausted. Time for bed in which I hope I don't dream of airtight packed turkey or hairnets gone wrong.