He took the goat out of the display case and put it on the counter. No gloves. No protective sleeve on the scale. Not even a sink in sight. He then proceeded to take the chunk of goat in back and chop it up for us. He returned with nice little cutlets which went back on the bare counter. He trimmed the fat, weighed it and we settled on a price. Great.
Next we went to the chicken section of the display case. Mind you, he still has goat parts attached to his fingers, the scale has not been cleaned and my OSHA alarm bells are going off. He hand picks a half dozen chicken thighs, piles them on the scale and again we agree to the price.
I’m not sure why this bothers me so much. Perhaps it the endless ‘Food Handlers’ licensing classes I’ve had to sit through over the years. I tell myself to get over it, that’s how it’s done here, etc. But I can’t.
My stomach churns in dread. Just how many microbes am I going to have to digest today?
All this gives new meaning to praying over your food!