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May. 19th, 2003 05:02 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
wickedfleaWhen I worked in the kitchen at the Bully III Pub (now Dave's) in Starkville there was always weird shit going on. For instance, in the walk-in cooler was always a big-ass clump of Velveeta in a salad bowl covered with Saran Wrap. It was always quite obvious that someone had begun melting it and stopped for some reason; part of it would be molded to the bowl and part of it would still be in the shape of the box. And you never knew if it was any good or not. I mean, is Velveeta ever really good? And when does it go bad? And how can you tell? No one ever says, "Marge, I don't think this Velveeta is fresh." And I don't think it grows mold; I'm guessing there would have to be some actual organic material there in order to sustain it. But I was always wary of that bowl of Velveeta. We called it Suspect Velveeta, and we blamed it for anything that went wrong in the whole bar. Someone return some undercooked chicken tenders? I suspect Velveeta. Heidi slipped on the wet floor and busted her ass? I suspect Velveeta. Empty Natural Light cans under the back lavatory? I suspect Velveeta. Every few days someone would get fed up with it and throw the bowl over by the dishwasher to be emptied and cleaned. And in no time there'd be another bowl of Suspect Velveeta in the fucking walk-in. Scary stuff.
The more I think about it, the more I think that Suspect Velveeta could have been created in some sort of cosmic compensation for the kitchen crew's horrible misdeeds. In particular, I think the fact that we dumped our used fryer grease behind the building had a lot to do with it. Shauna, our dipsomaniac boss, never paid her bills, so of course the waste disposal company stopped coming to empty our grease buckets. So what could we do? We couldn't dump it down the sink, so we dumped it out back, behind the hotel room where that crazy McGee dude stayed. You should have seen the bog it created. Sometimes I'd stumble as I was dumping a five-gallon pot of hot grease and my foot would hit the black pit. It was like quicksand. And the smell. You know what old fryer grease smells like, right? Now think about barrels and barrels of it mixing with the earth and percolating for months. Disgusting. I've often feared that the EPA was going to come find me and beat me half to death in retribution for the environmental havoc I created. But I've paid my debt, sucker. I've lived under the evil regime of Suspect Velveeta.
The more I think about it, the more I think that Suspect Velveeta could have been created in some sort of cosmic compensation for the kitchen crew's horrible misdeeds. In particular, I think the fact that we dumped our used fryer grease behind the building had a lot to do with it. Shauna, our dipsomaniac boss, never paid her bills, so of course the waste disposal company stopped coming to empty our grease buckets. So what could we do? We couldn't dump it down the sink, so we dumped it out back, behind the hotel room where that crazy McGee dude stayed. You should have seen the bog it created. Sometimes I'd stumble as I was dumping a five-gallon pot of hot grease and my foot would hit the black pit. It was like quicksand. And the smell. You know what old fryer grease smells like, right? Now think about barrels and barrels of it mixing with the earth and percolating for months. Disgusting. I've often feared that the EPA was going to come find me and beat me half to death in retribution for the environmental havoc I created. But I've paid my debt, sucker. I've lived under the evil regime of Suspect Velveeta.
