Sir, you need help?!?

It happened again – my imagination got the best of me.  I was at the grocery store yesterday enjoying my weekly people watching excursion and picking up a few random items (beer and Funyons) when I found myself by the meat counter.

My father was a butcher and for some reason I am always drawn to this area of the grocery store.  I can vividly recall the reality of life, death, and the joy of being atop the food chain being played out in great detail inside my father's butcher shop. Hell, during hunting season I would also come home from school to find deer strung up in our garage at home ready to be dressed. On more than one occasion I was scolded for my bloody footprints leading into the house.

I digress – grocery shopping. Behind the meat case was an older woman grinding beef. The steel grinder looked ancient. With each rotation of its metal arm chunks of animal flesh would spill out. I was silently watching this woman work when it happened.

"Do you ever worry about someone coming up behind you and forcing your hand into the grinder as you work?"  The words were out of my mouth before I even realized what i was asking – a thought spoken aloud.

The woman looked up from her work, startled by both my presence and the question.  I tried my best PR smile to cover my awkward words; she wasn't buying it, however.

"Clint," she called anxiously taking a step back from the grinder and letting some of the meat fall to the floor. " Through the swinging doors behind where she stood, leading to where the real work in a butcher shop takes place, strolled quite possibly the largest man I have ever seen. Clint leaned down as the woman whispered something into his ear. I could only imagine what she was saying.

Clint nodded as the woman stole one final glance in my direction before walking through the swinging doors. y attention diverted by her hasty retreat, I failed to notice Clint's approach. "Sir, you need help?!?"

He was standing at the counter, over-sized hands resting atop the meat case's shiny surface.  I couldn't tell if his words were a question or a statement. Unsure of how to respond, I merely smiled and nodded as I proceeded to wheel my squeaky cart away from the meat counter.

I'm not sure if I will be welcome back at that meat counter, but the experience did make for a fruitful night of writing. And, something tells me that woman will never again operate that meat grinder without worrying about who might be lurking behind her.