I Took a Job at a Butcher Shop

I took a job at a butcher shop

I never pictured myself feeling like a drifter at 17. I was a loner. A dropout. A nobody. Working under-the-table jobs to keep myself afloat.

I wanted something new. Something grounding. The kind of employment that felt rewarding rather than sketchy.

That’s when I found the butcher shop.

That dusty “help wanted” sign in the front window felt like an omen. Like fate itself was whispering in my ear, pushing me through the front door.

The bell chimed above me as the door swung open, prompting the man behind the counter to look up from his copy of the local newspaper.

“Can I help you?” he asked, voice dry and distant, bordering on irritated.

I told him I’d seen his sign. Explained that I needed the job. Tried to sell myself as a loyal, great employee, though I’d been fired by 4 separate employers.

He studied me for a moment, eyes sharp and vigilant.

The silence in the room was broken only by the low hum of the refrigerated display cases that lined the walls, each one filled with assorted cuts of meat.

One of those coolers felt wrong, though. It was darker than the others, more grimy, with streaks of rust snaking down its exterior.

Finally, after what felt like centuries, the man spoke again.

“Four employers, huh?”

The question set me back. I had not said that aloud, and why would I?

“How did you-”

“When you’ve been in the industry as long as I have, son, you start to pick up on certain things. Believe me when I tell you, this shop is no place for a young man like you.”

I blinked with confusion. This guy didn’t know me. He couldn’t possibly. But after another long stretch of silence, he spoke again.

“I’ll tell you what. Come back tomorrow. Give me some time to get the place cleaned up. I’ll let you see how the business runs, then you can decide for yourself if you wanna stay.”

I left the shop feeling uneasy, but also hopeful as to what the next day entailed.

I slept on a park bench that night and showered at an old spigot near a restaurant in town. I made sure to do this early so as not to get caught by the owners or other employees.

I arrived back at the butcher at around 9 in the morning, and of course, the help wanted sign still hung in the window.

The man hadn’t been lying. He really did clean up the place. The first thing I noticed was the glossy look on that previously decrepit-looking display case.

I wanted to see what was inside. Ever so slowly, I made my way over to it, inching closer and closer until the man’s voice stopped me in my tracks.

“Back so soon?” he asked.

“Figured I’d get ahead of the curve,” I replied.

With a chuckle, the man gestured for me to come behind the counter.

“Well, since you’re here,” he said with a yawn, “guess I’ll give you the tour.”

Guiding me to the back of the shop, we passed all manner of tools for the trade.

“That there’s the slicer.”

“That there’s the grinder.”

“And here… here you have your storage.”

The man opened the door, and a gust of frigid air punched me in the face. Inside, I saw row after row of animal carcasses hanging from meat hooks, swaying back and forth methodically.

There was also something else, though. Something that I’m positive was not part of a regular butcher’s job. In the back corner, lying in piles against the wall, were bags. Bags that held shapes that looked a little too familiar. A little too human.

“Those are our special deliveries,” the man chirped. “Meats that our clientele pay top dollar for.”

I turned to face him and noticed that his mouth had curled into a devilish grin.

“So what do you think, boss?” he asked. “Still wanting the work?”

Before I could answer him, the chiming of a bell interrupted me, and we both made our way back to the front.

We were greeted by a tall, brooding man dragging one of those bags behind him.

I noticed that it seemed to move, twitching in ways that were unnatural. And when I heard the faint scream from underneath, the discreetness the guy had been displaying started to make sense.

So why am I telling you all this? Well, I’m writing this now to inform you all:

Once you get past your humanity, butcher work is a killer gig.