Meat Station

I'm shocked by how much toilet paper girls go through.  I know that's a thing.  I'm not really complaining.  Just let it be known: shocked.  I walk into the bathroom, take an inventory of my surroundings, and that's followed, nearly everyday, by my use of expletives.  I want to see statistics, read some studies, talk to academics.

Looks like I'm training on the Meat Station this week.  Soon I'll be fondling those prosciutto wrapped pork chops and dancing with the beef tenderloin.  They want me to cook meat half the week and fish the other half, and that sounds nice.

The last meat guy moved up.  Sensitive subject.  Maybe we'll talk about it later, or maybe we won't talk about it until I'm tenured.