It’s another Monday in the kitchen. The weekend rush is over, now its time to get to work organising the kitchen for the week ahead, to restock the cold room and unpack the largest, bulkiest delivery of the week, which is comprised of dry goods and long holding products, like cheese. The washing machine is on the fritz and the frier needs and oil change too but thats enough mundane detail from the life we chose to live. As thrilled as I know you are to hear it.
I’m joined by Tommy Gun the cool Kiwi who is slicing very ripe tomatoes as I unpack the delivery. Now join me as I run my knife along the packing tape of a box to reveal a collection of goats cheese logs…
I pick up the perfectly round cylinder and flip in in my palm, slapping it down on the bench to grab Toms attention.
“What do you think of this Goats Cheese we’re using?”
Tom shot me a downcast look, “Not great bro, I don’t really dig it hey”
“Yeah there’s something about it, hey. Its not right”
“Yeah its shitty alright” I roll another roll onto the bench
“You know what it tastes like? Its like a goats cheese made by a robot in a some kind of, not too distant, dystopian future where automation has progressed to a point where all food production has been taken over by robots.”
“Yeah, its got no soul!” Tommy exclaimed excitedly.
“And it tastes like plastic too… Cheap though.” I say, with a resigned shrug.
I bundle up the rolls and grab some other bits and make my way to the cool room. Outside the clouds are rolling in, creeping over the sunshine. A few customers are walking up the steps, two by two. Another trucks pulled in with the fruit and veg. He’s fudging about in the back of the truck, no doubt somethings missing, I’ll deal with that the on the way back in…
Across the road the last rays of light hit the ocean as the traffic begins to back up through the intersection.
And I step off the steamy street, into the cool air of the walk-in.
I feel lucky when I throw a roll into my busted Yashica. I keep it in the car so when I’m bopping about Crush City I know I can get a shot when the eyes start twitching for some keen angle-catching. Sharp-like, see? So I know what I’m getting.
Frame up. Frame down. I roll the the city streets real slow. I’m in no hurry. Looking for some busted, faded motel sign I ain’t spotted yet before. One of them throwbacks to the glory days. Before the money got too big and everything got so clean. Real Dry. All the class just up and left. Where? I aint tellin. So, Eventually the cars piling up behind me’ll start bleeping their little bleepin’ hearts out. I ash my cigarette in my rear view mirror, flip em the V and slow down some more.
Then I laugh a hearty ‘fuck you lame fuckers’ kinda laugh that makes em loose their fucking minds. Veins swelling on their foreheads looking like they got centipedes crawling around up under their coupons. Fists gripping the steering wheel like they’re tryin’ ta bend it in half. Its sport. Good sport. And all sports fair-game in Crushtown.
Thats how you got to be, A real dick. Bigtime. Thats how it is if you ever want to get nothing done noplace in this kinda special kinda nowhere, kid…