It was a slow afternoon in the Piggly Wiggly. We were located in a neighborhood of Nashville with a lot of elderly customers, so a lot of our business came at the end of the month when pension checks were sent out. We were about a week shy of this, though, so there was little to do.
My apprentice meat cutter, Donald, and I had been amusing ourselves by dancing around with ten-pound tubes of ground beef held to our crotches like giant penises. We were battling with them, having a duel with our meaty members, when I glanced at the small window (perhaps one foot square) that graced the door of the meat department. The horrified face of a little old lady was peering in the window. She looked quite a bit like Jessica Tandy of Driving Miss Daisy fame. We were, after all, in a Piggly Wiggly.
I showed Miss Daisy where the service bell was so she could just ring next time she had a question, and murmured a silent prayer that she wouldn't turn us in to the owner.
We went back to work. As I was breaking down the meat grinder for cleaning, one of the stock boys came in. I used a lot of spices in sausage and pastrami making, so it was normal procedure that if any of the spice containers for sale were damaged, they would be given to the meat department for possible use. He set a large container of cinnamon on my desk and left.
"What the hell?" I thought. "This is a meat department, not a bakery."
I had just taken the plate off the head of the grinder and was removing the build-up of coarsely ground gristle and tough meat that is always left there (usually about one-and-one-half or two pounds) when it hit me. What could prove more entertaining than a strategically placed fake turd?
Swiftly, I modeled the meat into a turd shape, glad that I had taken a semester of three-dimensional design in college. "Donald!" I shouted to my young apprentice. "Bring that cinnamon over here." I shook some cinnamon into a styrofoam tray and rolled the fake turd in it until it was heavily covered. The color was good, but it looked a little dry. I figured an overnight stay wrapped and stored in the cooler would help it. After the ersatz turd was safely stored, we finished our cleaning and went home.
The next morning we brought our creation out of the cooler to admire it. It was perfection -- slightly lumpy, with a delightful taper at both ends and a wonderful moist patina of cinnamon. The dry cinnamon had pulled enough moisture out of the meat to add that perfect touch of realism. Any anus would have been proud to have pinched such a sweet smelling -- and beautiful -- loaf.
The employees' bathrooms were located just outside the back door of the meat prep room. We entered the women's room, put the commode lid down, tenderly deposited our creation, and went back to work. Soon we heard footsteps approaching. We were in luck: it was one of the cute little cashiers on her way to a toilet break. Soon the musical sound of her screams assailed our waiting ears.
We rushed back to rescue this fair young damsel. She was standing in the door, pointing at our creation with a shaky finger. "Look!" she gasped. "Look what some lowdown bitch did!"
"Don't worry, sweetheart," I said gallantly. "Donald and I will handle this." We pushed past her and went up to the commode, where I reached down and picked up the fake turd. She looked on in horror as I raised it to my nose and gave it a big sniff. "Whoever did this had a Big Mac for supper last night. We need to find out who that was and we will have the perpetrator nailed!"
"Here," said Donald. "Let me see that." I passed the turd to Donald, who also took a hearty whiff, even getting some cinnamon on his nose. "It smells like they had an Egg McMuffin this morning. That should narrow our search down a bit."
"Yes," I said. "The evildoer is obviously addicted to Mickey Dee's junk food. I don't see any healthy scraps in this turd at all." We spent a few merry minutes passing the phony poo back and forth and adding to the comments. It was so hard to suppress the laughter that was building up inside me.
The poor little cashier finally realized how much fun we were having and figured that she had been duped. She was a good sport and didn't tell anyone else; so, with great joy, we were able to replay our little scenario several times that day.
If I were able to go back and change anything about our trick, I think I would have, after my initial sniff, given it a hesitant little lick. I am sure that would have captured her attention very well.
