Today, I, JMF Stone, officially became a butcher. Sure, I’ve been working away at the slaughterhouse for over a month now, but today I was officially inducted into the elite society of meat cutting professionals. And no I didn’t fuck a sheep. If that was all it took I would’ve become a butcher at 13. No, today I cut myself, like all good butcher’s do. It all happened so fast that it’s hard to remember details, but alas, i shall try.

I was boning out a ‘plate’ (bottom piece of the rib) when my knife slipped and plunged into my left wrist. Now, the word “cut” implies a slice, so I guess this was no cut, but rather a stab, like the guys in HBO’s Oz. Once I realized I stuck myself, a slight panic set in. I thought that my radial artery was sliced. Luckily for me, and whoever would have missed the last hours of pay to drive me to the emergency room, I did not. The irony of this was that earlier today I was thinking about how horrid it would be to accidentally slice my wrist at work and die…turns out you don’t die, but your whole arm freaking hurts. After a few minutes of applying pressure and electrical tape I was back to work. The whole event was no big deal, but damn it, I’m in the club. I’m somebody.

It was an important milestone. I’m not sure if I can really call myself a butcher yet. That might be like a grad student calling himself a doctor. Or a fry boy at Mickey D’s calling himself a chef. But it’s just the best title to describe what I do. Like Kyle calling himself a nerd.

The job so far has been marked by few Milestones, plenty of milestones, but few Milestones. Last week we slaughtered a buffalo. We will cut it on Thursday. That was cool. Today I saw a bald eagle. Also cool. I learned how to cut a deco roast, obscure, so cool. The list is, unfortunately, end-able.

The actual work of cutting up the same pieces of meat day in and day out is really the least interesting part of the job. I think it is valuable for the future. Some day i might have a small butcher shoooopppeeee, but for now its kinda boring. Listening to music helps, although it’s usually crappy country or the same mix that I made two weeks ago (mostly CCR and Johnny Cash). Talking to the olde timers about random things is fun too. Giving Melissa hell really helps; she’s cool. Noticing the difference in meat between a Dexter and an Angus is cool too.

But that’s the thing; the best parts about the job have little or nothing to do with actually cutting up animals. But hey, one month down, eleven more to go…

I will end this seemingly random post with the most horrifying story I’ve heard yet.

Two people I work with used to work for a competing slaughterhouse that services the “box beef industry” (ya know, 200 burger patties for 5 bucks). Apparently, it was fairly common there to find a cow up for slaughter that was with child. So apparently it’s not uncommon at this plant for cows to start birthing while they are in line to be offed. Now, if the USDA inspector or Federal vet spots a pregnant cow, it can’t be killed, and the slaughterhouse loses money. So the workers (mostly illegal Mexicans) will cut the legs off of the calf as it is about to pop out of the mother, then they shove the calf back inside before the inspectors notice that the cow is giving birth.

Yeah, I heard that story today. My soul still hurts. So carry that feeling with you next time you’re at a BBQ and you see that soggy box in the cooler with the grey beef patties. Yuck.