Monday, December 18, 2017
Bacon in library
I made some bacon in the library break room. My co-workers cursed my name.
"It smells so goooood!" They said.
"So you like it?"
"No. We curse your name."
It's good bacon, made from humanely raised, happy, and naturally fed pigs who are then murdered against their will.
"You don't mind that we're going to murder you, do you?"
"Yes. I do. I really do." Pigs can't talk, but they can easily think that.
Oh but smell that bacon! When I cooked it it was slow to spread it's aroma. This is a big place I work in! But I cooked the bacon slowly and carefully. I pulled it crispy from its own fat. I put the sizzling bacon in a sandwich of cranberry walnut bread spread with avocado oil mayonnaise (appealingly and disconcertingly greenish), sweet 100 tomatoes, and a lemony sauteed chard.
I hope you're not mad at me too.
I ate the sandwiches. I drank water. I wrote some e-mails. I talked to some co-workers who all mentioned bacon a lot. I left them discussing bacon among themselves. I went down a 75 foot long hallway to an elevator, took the elevator upstairs into the public areas. I wheeled a cart hundreds of feet past the reference desk into non fiction, and I started shelving. Then I realized I smelled bacon. Oh bacon.
I heard the snatch of a patron saying something. "Bacon." He said.
Someone else up there said "Bacon (something, something, something) bacon." Everyone looked hungry. Everyone said "Bacon."
But I wasn't hungry anymore. I'd had bacon.