| || murky, aloha, sweaty, burger, labor market.
Image from the Internet.
The opening poem contains all the words (or variations of them) from today's Jumble.
Comments are welcomed!
Do not explicitly reveal any of the actual answer words until after closing time, but embedding them surreptitiously in comment sentences is encouraged.
8 comments:
Flipping burgers all day long,
And the pay is just a song.
Oh, how I hate my job!
The kitchen's hot and sweaty.
*Ding*, onion rings are ready.
Oh, how I hate my job!
The fries are nicely curly.
In the fryer, oil is murky.
Oh, how I hate my job!
The shake machine is burping,
Hit it so to get it working.
Oh, how I hate my job!
The labor market's tight,
A job change's not in sight,
Oh, how I hate my job!
But after work, a surfing date
In this great Aloha State!
Oh, how I love my job!
I guess we've all had a job (or two) that made us sing your poem's refrain, Owen. My wife lived in Hawaii for a while, and she actually had the original McJob. When she was a teen she worked at McDonald's!
It wasn't so bad, she says, except for a manager who was very "handsy" with the female employees.
My worst job was selling ladies' shoes part time at a high volume store--"Leeds" on Market Street in San Francisco. This was in my first two undergrad years.
Oh, how I hated that job--and my boss who was always on me to improve my sales. In truth I was a terrible salesman. I think they only kept me on because I was polite, and the sharper sales guys could dump their "crocks" on me.
"Well, I think Mr. Keith can help you. He's our expert in your size!"
It was a dangerous job. Some customers are lunatics. I had one pull a butcher knife from her purse while I was bent over to get her foot size. She cleaned her nails with this #*@! machete while muttering about "rotten men."
I don't mind a bit of knife expertise, maybe a bit of throwing--in the proper venue.
But I prefer a paper target. Y'know?
~ OMK
P.S. Sandy ~
Every word is true.
OMK, your life has conveniently provided you with so many jumble-helpful stories. Me, not so much. Though I did work part time in a shoe store while in high school. But nothing exciting ever happened.
This jumble was not really difficult; The clue came easily and the solution just took a bit of thought. Yes. birth is hard work, hence the name.
I really empathize with the poem. I never worked with food, but there are many other equally boring jobs. Maybe not as sweaty, but not fun either.
Actually, I was really doubtful about this poem, because I've never been anywhere near food service except as a customer. I know there were jargon terms I should have used, and probably different priorities. But we all read, and thereby lead other lives. That's where many of our experiences come from.
Keith, I'll believe everything you wrote ... up to the big knife.
Owen ~
Nope, you gotta include the big knife. That's gospel.
~ OMK
Some customers are lunatics, right?
Keith had one pull a butcher knife.
While he sized her feet,
She cleaned nails neat,
While muttering "rotten men" cause strife!
It was a very scary time,
His nape exposed while bending:
It threatened to become a crime
But had a happy ending.
Young Keith agreed: Men are bad!
Which pleased the lady with the blade
Enough to grapple the innocent lad
To her misanthropic crusade.
~ OMK
Post a Comment