Hence the new meat grinder, with its 3/4 horsepower motor and its rated 220 pounds/hour output, purchased from a restaurant supply store. I'd done a fair bit of online research, and shipping a big hunk of metal commercial-grade meat grinder was going to cost a fair bit--and I couldn't see it ahead of time. Hence this one.
So I went into the store Wednesday to pick it up. They had only one in stock, and then they had to find the box for it, and so on. Finally the guy came out with the box on a dolly and looked at me, and at the box and said "So...um...what are you using this for? Like deer meat?" Just a little challenging, on the edge of "Yeah, right, lady, I can just see YOU processing deer meat." (Cooked a lot of venison in my time, I have...)
"Sheep, steer, hog," I said, blithely, stuffing my credit card back in its case and my purse. Well, we plan to process all three. And John has a smoker, so smoked sausage and ham and stuff should also come along...
He looked at me again, and, as we headed for the front door of the store, he said, "Do you...uh...kill them...yourself?"
"Sure," I said, pushing the door open so he could wheel the dolly out.
"What do you use? Shoot them or...?"
"Shoot them," I said. And, anticipating the next question. "Pistol." His eyes got a little wide, and his body language changed subtly, from "yeah, right..." to "OK, this one's for real."
While I got the hatch door open, we exchanged comments on the death of small businesses, including meat-packers, farmers' troubles, and so on. When I lifted the hatch, though, I saw that I had forgotten to take out the fencing gear, and what came out of my mouth was not "Just a second; I'll move these" but "Rats, I forgot to take the swords out of the car..." I would love to have a snapshot of his expression.
I didn't mean to sound that violent...really...(attempts to put on the Perfectly Harmless Little Old Lady persona again.)