Today we return to the product-review subject matter. Or, more accurately, the review of The Devil's Handmaiden who slings the product.
It happened at The Devil's Playground over in Bill-Paying Town. At the deli counter. You know, the one where that policeman turned to me and said, "YEEESSSS?" when I approached to ask for some chicken wings. He wasn't there last week, and I wasn't looking for chicken wings. I was looking for chicken livers. And some of those wedge fries.
As I walked up to the deli counter, The Handmaiden scurried away, turning her back, busying herself with something on a counter in the inner sanctum. Another Devil's Handmaiden was waiting on another lady, who was getting sliced meat. I wasn't even near the sliceables. I was at the already-prepared area. So how much trouble could I be, really? The Handmaiden would only need to count, or to weigh. I'm pretty sure they do both about a hundred times a day. It was before noon. She couldn't have been burned out yet.
I was in the market for chicken livers for Farmer H, enough to last two meals, and those wedge fries. I don't think we've had any of them for at least a year, what with both boys gone, and me making wise choices. I did not plan on partaking, but Farmer H likes them. With all my purchases to be carted home and into the house, I didn't want to smash them. So when the Handmaiden deigned to come forward and snarl, "What can I get you?" I told her a large container of the wedge fries.
They were quite large, those wedge fries. The length of one of those tall containers. I assumed she would just put them in lengthwise. Maybe laying the container on its side and stacking them until it was full. I didn't specify poundage, or a certain number. I also asked for a large container of chicken livers. What could be easier? Just fill the containers, weigh them, and slap a sticker on them. It's not like trial and error to get me a pound of something.
Huh. You know what happens when we assume. Here is what I got.
Uh huh. The Devil's Handmaiden took her tongs and grabbed at those wedge fries and STUFFED them into the container. SHOVED them down, all willy-nilly, Destroyed the integrity of the wedges. SMOOSHED them to CRAM more on top. I swear, she tamped down those once-wedge fries like she was loading powder in her musket.
I was able to find a few unblemished wedge fries for Farmer H. The first meal. Let the record show that Jack and my Sweet, Sweet Juno reaped the rewards of the carnage a few days later.
What, exactly, is wrong with people these days?