Story Sent in by Joe:
Stacy and I met online. She was nice enough, at first, but she was a little too fond of talking to me about her father, the butcher.
She worked with him in his shop, she helped him place orders, she once beheaded some chickens, she loved weighing steak. She very clearly liked what she did, and routinely filled my head with all manner of meaty facts.
The week that Spider-Man 2 came out, she asked me if I wanted to see it, which I did. It became our first date.
After dinner (during which she had ordered pasta and a salad), we made it to the theater. When we arrived at the concession stand, I asked for a medium popcorn and soda. Stacy asked the poor stand worker, "What meat do you have?"
The worker said, "Meat? We have chicken nuggets and hot dogs."
Stacy asked, "What type of hot dogs?"
"What quality beef?"
Stacy groaned. "Nooooooo, I mean prime, choice, select, and so on."
The worker said, "I don't really know. No one's ever complained. They're really good."
Stacy laughed, "I'll be the judge of that. I'm a butcher's daughter. Let me see the package."
The worker became flustered, and I whispered to Stacy, "Why not just grab some popcorn? Or you can share mine."
She replied, "Uh, I'm doing my part to support America's meat industry. How about yourself?"
I shrugged. "I'm doing nothing at all to support it. Why not just buy a hot dog and then we can go see the movie?"
"You don't understand. I'm a butcher's daughter. If a customer came in and asked my dad what grade the meat was and he said he didn't know, do you know what would happen?"
"This is a movie theater. Not a butcher shop."
"I know what a butcher shop looks like. My father's a butcher."
The worker cut in, with hope in his voice, "Will that be all?"
Stacy turned to him. "Weren't you checking on the grade of beef?"
Without a word, he turned and walked away. Luckily, other registers were open, so other patrons were being served. However, there was a growing line behind us and I just wanted to be away from the concession and inside the theater, regardless of the quality of beef that accompanied us within.
The worker returned with a manager. She told Stacy, "We use Sabrett and Oscar Mayer."
Stacy asked, "How old are they?"
The manager patiently replied, "We just got them yesterday."
Stacy asked, "Where did you get them from?"
The manager said, "A local retail supplier."
Stacy then asked to see a hot dog up close ("I'm a butcher's daughter. I just want to inspect it.") and the manager indulged her. Stacy looked it around and around, from every angle.
Finally, she returned it to the manager and said, "Okay. I'll have a small popcorn."
The worker blurted, "You don't want the hot dog? Seriously?"
Stacy said, "You're talking to a butcher's daughter. Believe me: I know meat."
Off to the theater we went with nary a hot dog between us. I spent the rest of the time focusing on the film, and looking forward to ending the date and never seeing the butcher's daughter ever again.
Story Sent in by Joe: