The Salmonella Shoe Shop...

The first thing I noticed was the stench of old rubbish- that probably had maggots residing within it. The flies were thick in the air and circling the roast beef that had been left- too long- on the bench. A caterpillar barely escaped the blade of the Kichenhand; from the unwashed lettuce on a putrid cutting board.

It's like nobody gives a shit about the chopping boards. Or washing their hands. There's not a spray bottle of disinfectant in sight and the hot water system is broken so you can't even hot-wash the filth from the scurge-soaked sponges. I toss them away when no one is watching...

mThe microwave is alive with spatters and crusts of god-only-knows-what. And my shoes will never be the same again after walking on the oil-slick of scum that is their floor. I wish I had the balls to call the Health Inspectors. I would- except they'd know it was me.

I wonder if they serve that slop to their own friends- they don't seem to have a problem serving it to unsuspecting customers? I'm not that desperate for a job that I'll stoop to working with grots. Sorry. But you know who you are.

I can't get rid of the vision of the chicken snitzel swimming in some sort of viscous liquid. Wash it; I was told. Wash it? Chuck it. The flesh disintergrates beneath my fingers; surely they weren't seriously going to cook it?

Slimy hotdogs should Never be microwaved and sold for consumption. And two day old warm milk should Never be replaced in the fridge. You grots. I could never work happily sliding around in your filth. I made people vomit telling them how filthy your shop and food were.

I felt embarrassed for my shoes- who the flies are still haunting.

I could never cook on that grill. I have pride in the food I prepare. I would never eat anything they sold- and it's week old stock and pick-up-off-the-floor-it'll-be-right attitude is not for me. The truth is I'm just not That desperate for a job. I don't care about mess and hard work but I have too much pride to work in filth and grimace through my nose.

The shit I had to pick out of my shoes. With a twig.

Poor broken twig. It never hurt anyone.