I'ma grow me some turnips some day

The countdown is on: six more days at the grill.

I can't believe it.

It's not that I relish scrubbing out the big boiler and all surrounding equipment and drains after the mixed vegetables boil over and leave their mark over everything in the surrounding square mile area. It's just that two years ago I started pestering my boss about his scheduling habits and he told me I needed to be dedicated and despite my best efforts I did. I dedicated myself. to my job. at a campus grill. It's half ridiculous but I've ended up loving it terribly.
I hate the uniforms we have to wear, but I kind of love swallowing my pride letting myself be masked up in baseball cap and aprons. For two years there were 15-60 hours a week where no one would pay any attention to me for how I looked (plain as heck in the uniform) but only for what I can do for them. I don't want to throw on too much cheese but I'm going to miss that.
And every minute I can spend scrubbing the grimiest pot or for smiling at the crabbiest customer was another minute I could thumb my nose at stupid politicians, block buster movies, Juicy Couture, vegetarian clubs, activists, and "F-you"'s scribbled on walls. In the most unphilosophical job of the century, I felt a little better for escaping that "mad, mad world."

That being said, I will admit that this is the loveliness that is my job: Every morning I eat my granola bar as I ride my bike to work. I no sooner finish that granola bar and tie on my apron then I have to wrestle crates full of gallons of milk and 50lbs of cow to unearth raw pork and chicken that will inevitably baptize me with their blood as I prepare them for the smoker.

BUT: Today at work I heard a woman take her daughter to the bathroom. I hear her say, "I knew they'd have bathrooms in here because even football players have to poop."
The little girl says, "Football players go poo-ooh-p" over and over again.
Again the mother, "Everyone poops."

How disgusting. But I'm laughing. O profundity!