Answered Prayers

The sweat was starting to run down my back.  Damn it, where is it?  I had no sense of orientation.  Like a pilot on a black night, flying blind.  The rubber gloves stuck to my sweaty hands as I cut through the tissue.  Longissimus dorsi and the posterior end, I need your mark like sailors need the North Star.  My self-confidence shatters.

Only supper (what you call dinner) was between me and my first, live chuck roll demonstration.  I had made some cuts along the muscle seams, but in vain.  I couldn’t tell which end was up, north, or anterior.  The robot on the animated cutting video didn’t sweat, or curse, or stare in disbelief at the lump of beef defeating it.

The foreboding of future embarrassment flooded my thoughts as I put the chuck back in the cooler.  The coordinator announced to the group to “take a moment of silence for blessings”.  The nice way to say grace without offending people who don’t pray, which kind of offends me.  Anyway…  “Serratus ventralis, serratus ventralis.  I need to find those Denver steaks!!  Please.”  My thoughts were anywhere but on the conversation or food in the conference room.  I was so upset, I only took a bite (well, maybe 3) of frosting off the towering chocolate slice.

I excused myself early and went back to the demo room.  A few more cuts.  Yes, yes, there it.  I found the Denver cut.  Fifteen minutes to spare on my answered prayer.

The demo went off without a hitch.  I found all my cuts, made some steaks, and didn’t even nick my fingers.

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