The Bizarrest Butcher

CONTENT WARNING: Animals Butchered For Meat

I bought a pig from a local meat market for a spit roast. I have never had an angrier man sell me anything. On the first call for a quote:

Butcher: “It’s [price] per pound. I can’t deal with this!”

And he hung up on me. I made a second call to reserve the pig, and the man abruptly cut me off.

Butcher: “Why didn’t you reserve it the last time you called?!”

Me: “Because you hung up on me.”

He hung up on me again. Now, I was just working with this guy to have another story at the pig roast.

I called back on the day of delivery to confirm when I was going to pick up the pig. This went fine. He even sounded pleasant. Then, I got to the market. The dude had a sign on the door that said, “I fought in the war, and that gives me the right to be this ornery.” I don’t know which war, but okay.

I walked in, and a tiny man who had obviously just butchered an animal yelled:

Butcher: “Who the h*** are you?!”

I let him know and asked for my pig. He walked into the back room, came back with a trash bag filled with a carcass, and literally chucked it at me. Having a fifty-pound dead pig thrown at you is not a normal experience.

I had my two-year-old daughter with me, and a sweet little old lady came out and offered my daughter a Tootsie Pop. We don’t often give my daughter candy except on special occasions. I was about to protest when the old man yelled:

Butcher: “You let my wife give your daughter a sucker!”

I paid, and we walked outside. The butcher followed me. The man looked at my jeep — as I still had the pig slung over my shoulder — sneered, “Don’t go anywhere,” went inside, and brought out a dollar in quarters. He handed them to me.

Butcher: “Go next door and air up your tires. I’ll be watching.”

I drove next door and aired up my tires — which were low, but not outrageously low — all the while being leered at by a butcher covered in blood.