A Time To Kill

Spring is in the air folks!
Mainly because it felt like spring all winter, but that's besides the point.
Here's a story that happened last summer. You probably don't want it to happen to you, so take heed of the few lessons buried within.

A Time To Kill
I work taking care of animals for a man who likes everything in it's place. I've been there 5 years, so I must be doin it right. A new girl whom I trained and will call "N" and I became friends. She is a hard worker, and is honest, and I appriciate those things in people. She is also candid and funny, which makes our interactions anything but boring.
2 weeks ago, N told me she answered an ad looking for a gardener, and said she must be crazy because with her other jobs, she wasn't sure when she could do this one. She said the property needed everything done. I told her I could help her out, if she wanted, so that she could get done twice as fast. I am one of the fastest workers where we work now, so N happily agreed. I further told her, that while I may boss her a bit at our job, this landscaping job was hers, and she would be my boss - just to establish things upfront.

Suposedly, these people had money, and like I told L one thing I have learned about folks with an abundance of money [I never use the word 'rich' because I find them to often be 'poor' in pretty much everything else, including mannors] is that they waste it on a lot of things, but don't want to pay a proper wage to take care of those things.

N had met with "L" the owner of this "weekend lake house", and followed her around while she pointed, and barked out items she wanted taken care of. One of those things was a giant wheelbarrow of debris which included her precious seedum plants that a previous employee "Nick" had detatched from it's lodgings in the rock wall that separated the lawn from the beach. L was very upset, and said she wanted "every last bit of them" saved. The yard was lined on every side with greenery, along with some unkept ornimental trees. The boxwoods lining the drive were leaning like they were trying to escape, and weeds thrived everywhere. She also wanted everything weeded, and lamented that summer was half over and nothing on the property was done yet. L painted a picture of one who was taken advantage of in such a way, that N and myself felt sorry for her. Poor woman couldn't enjoy her lake house cuz everyone that worked for her, had done her wrong.

Ya'll might wanna make a mental note here folks, when a potential boss starts pointin and barkin, TAKE NOTES!
and anytime a potenial employer starts complaining that everyone has done them wrong, remember - there are two sides to every story, and the one with the most money thinks theirs is the right one.

We began on Tues, and N tells me she suggested to L [and L agreed] that we would make a "Hospital bed" where we will carefully place the seedum after rescuing it from the smoldering wheelbarrow of death, and attempt to get it to root so it can be transplanted later, when it is healthy. She places me on that task, and begins to weed on the other side of the house.

I remember thinkin "what an idiot for pulling out that seedum, could he not see it was a plant?", as I began preparing the bed by the fence. I pulled a pile of festering seedum [among other things] from the wheel barrow, spread it out on the grass to breathe, and begin picking pieces of it that looked like they had some potential. I would place a handful of this in the row, and then water it with some mixed miracle growth stuff for stressed plants. The key word there was Miracle, but I didn't know it at the time. I also didn't know who the real idiot was. I just thought I did.
After a couple of hours, I stood up, to check my progress. It looked good, but the time! Oh the time it took to painstakingly pick 4" to 6" pieces of seedum outa that seething compost pile! I just can't believe they'd wanna pay us $12.50 an hour do do this! So I stop and go tell N how long it's taking. N assures me that L wanted it ALL saved. Now I knew that couldn't happen because if you went 8" down in the wheelbarrow, it everything was moldy, and litterally smokin. We each put in 3 1/2 hours that day.
The next day she wanted me to work on that seedum again, but when it got to where it was taking me too long to pick tiny 2" inch pieces that looked like it wanted to grow, I had to stop. So I began weeding out the path from her back door [so it would be purdy when they arrived for the weekend], and then the beds next to the new seedum, that had dead things in it. These dead things wanted to be a tomato, and 2 black berry plants. It was L who wanted us to make them grow, but being they were already in a location well suited to their growth, there was nothing to do but water them with miracle growth stuff.
I also attempted to spray part of the upper beach area with some weed killer that ended with the word "Clear" [like round-up only worse - it says right on the bottle not to spray it near anything you want to grow, or anywhere you want to grow something before a year is up]. This stuff wasn't a premix, and we were not supplied with anything to mix it with. I searched our supplies to find a 16 ounce glass bottled drink to make a measuring device, and another plastic bottle which I cut the bottom off to make a funel. The spray was commin out in such a thin stream, after many attempts at adjusting it, I determined it was easier to just pull the dang weeds out myself, so I did.

We took the next day off for other jobs, and came back on Fri, the last day before the weekend, in anticipation of L and her husband comming to their beach house for the weekend, N wanted me to finish spraying the beach and driveway, so it would be nice for them, but told me to be careful of the water. I love our planet, don't you? So I pulled up weeds along the water line for the first 4 feet up. I was just finishing when MrL arrived on the scene and asked me why I wasn't spraying the whole beach. I told him about our concern for contamination of the ground water, and said I was going to spray from 4' away from the waters edge forward. He replied that he wanted the weeds gone in the water, too.
He then pointed at the sand, and said "See where there's no weed? If you don't spray here, a weed will pop up. I want the whole beach sprayed, weed or no weed"
Ok, so then I told him there might not be enough "clear" stuff. He tells me there's a whole extra gallon of it, and I reply that there's only a partial one. He looks at me accusingly and asks "Are you mixing it?" I said, yes, and the 16 ounce bottle, which I used 2 of, plus funnel I used to measure are right there. He picked up the empty container of black death, and said it was full last week. I told him it was empty and I was using it to measure the gallon of water. He shook his head, and acknowledged that the Nick, the seedum puller, must have also used this full strength. Although based on all the weeds I saw pokin up out the junipers, all over the beach, driveway, and everywhere else, it did make me wonder where he used it.

Once happy that I am poisoning the planet to his specifications, N tells him that L had asked if we wanted to get paid on the 15th or the 30th, and N had said the 30th would be fine, but then the day before told her to call her with our hours to get paid on the 15th. I heard him telling L that she shoulda had her hours in by the 10th or the 25th to get paid on those dates. I quit listening as they settled on something. Hey, I was there to work, so I did.

Aledgedly there would be a check on the way.
That Sat, they called N, said they needed to talk, and when N got there L ran around pointing and barking again, only this time insisting we didn't do anything she wanted. She pitched and moaned. Why we were there on Thursday, but had no hours written down? [cuz we weren't] When shown our hours written on a calendar, they insisted the cameras had shown us to be there on Thurs [when we were both miles away], and what were we doing there if not working? [I'd like to know that too, actually] Went on to say she never pays $12.50 an hour, that she takes bids and only accepts the lowest one. [Then why didn't she tell N to submit a bid before?] The bed that ran the length of the driveway didn't need weeding [even though it was one of the first things she pointed at the week before], they asked why I hadn't sprayed the whole beach and driveway, which I did [dontcha hate when you get accused of not properly destroying our eco system when you know you did?]. They wanted to know why it took 4 hours to rescue all the tiny pieces of that freakin seedum. Why are the tomatos and berries still dying? Why wasn't black fabric placed and covered with mulch [which they had not provided] and why did we say we weeded all those beds over there anyway since they were all sprayed?
Huh?
Oh, Oh.
I told N if that woman had told us all those beds were poisoned, I wouldn't have placed the seedum there. It's all gonna die, and I don't wanna be there when it does. She agreed, but we got a sinking feeling that 1. they were only gonna pay us a small portion of what they had originally agreed on, and that any future work would be for free, and that 2. If we told them we quit, we wouldn't get paid anything for the work we had already done. So we did what any self respecting underpaid gardener would do - ignored them. They called and called and called for 4 days [if we were that bad, why did they want us back?], and when the check [which amounted to 7 $hr] came, we drove the 20 miles to their bank, cashed it, and right next door was a Salvation Army Thrift store, where I got a great deal on some fabric and 2 giant quilting hoops! but I digress. I let N call them back and tell them we were not suited to their needs, Or some fancy crap that means we are taking the $7 an hour the cheap hustlers sent us and runnin for the hills!

I don't know what they paid Nick, but I'm no longer thinkin he's the only idiot. Clearly he got paid to kill seedum, tomatoes, berries, and a few weeds.

Self Service At Walmart

I just came back from Walmart, and now I know why I don't go there. I got some extra money this week, cuz we're short man power at the assylum, and I got that quilting fabric itch. I heard Walmart is starting to stock and sell fabric again, and I want to check it out. There's a Walmart about a mile away from the Joanns I conveiniently plannned on going to, so I decided to go there first to see if they had fabric.
The short answer is yes.
The long answer is good luck getting it. I needed browns and greens for a butterfly quilt that is still in the dreaming & fabric gathering stages, so when I saw a nice brown for $1.50yd, I got all excited. I grabbed the brown, 2 greens [4.94yd], a nice turquoise floral print with a bit of brown in it that I know will cost me a bunch more money when I go to use it, and need that special color to make it happen [$2.50yd] and some other pieces of possibility [also $1.50yd], ect. 8 fabrics in all.
Then I waited. and waited. and rang the bell. and waited. and waited. and rang the bell. and waited. and rang the bell. and waited. Finally I went to find the nearest employee, which turned out to be the cell phone guys. I asked one of them to please call someone to come and cut fabric for me. I heard him call as I was leaving. Then I waited. and waited some more. and then my body began doing things, that I just could not stop. I reached into my bag, and got out pen and paper, and began cutting the fabric and writing down the yardage, and the color. I stacked up the bolts in one pile and the cut pieces in another.
When I was all done, I pushed my cart to the cell phone guys and asked if they would ring it up for me because I had things to do. I was in Walmart over an hour - most of that time was waiting.
They very nicely rang it up for me, because they knew how long I was waiting, and couldn't believe no one had arrived. They figured out how to scan the bolts and enter the yardage using my notes.

After I paid for it, I put my fabric in the cart, with the bolts on top, and returned them to their places. A lady came up and asked if she could help me. I said "No thank you, I'm all set" She said something about the Pellon, and I said, yes, I had it, put I put it back. She asked if I needed anything cut. I said I already cut it. She replied that we weren't suposed to do that, then asked to see the tags, which the cell phone guys had placed on the fabric, and I showed her. She said something about being at lunch. I told her she was perfectly entitled to her lunch, and that Walmart should have covered her area. She told me the assistant manager said he was watching, and there was no one there the whole time. I leaned in and said "Someone's been fibbing to you" I was not the only one who came in and looked at the fabric, so between me and others, there was easy 2 customers there at any given time. They just didn't have the balls I did. I drove 20 miles one way [that's $8 in gas for the trip] and I want my $1.50yd fabric darn it!

Now, I had 5 more items in my cart, I went to the checkout and began ringing up the packages of quilt batting, which didn't even fit in the bag. I asked the U-Scan monitor if they had any bigger bags, and she disappeared. She returned with one bag, that only one of the battings fit into, so I just tossed those in the cart, and bagged up the fabric that was already paid for. Pushed the cart out with all 5 items plunked into the cart unbagged, and 2 receipts totaling over $100 in my pocket. I felt like I was at one of those Clubs.
Self serve to the max.

Little Yippy Dog

One of my past jobs was delivering newspapers in a repressed area, that was being converted to a "motor route" meaning we'd put up tubes on a pole that I could shove the paper in from my car. This was considered by more than a few to be a "bad neighborhood" but I didn't see it that way. I think things are generally as bad as you want them to be. I did put up the tubes myself, so I could be seen pounding them into the ground, to reinforce to the young troublemakers that I was not a push-over. I also got to meet a lot of the other residents that no one talks about. Many of the residents were black folks from the south, who moved up here to work in at General Motors, and were now retired. They were very nice, self respecting folks who mowed their lawns weekly and even though, they said things like "ya'll" and "ain't" they also said "Please" and Thank you" where white folks generally didn't. I never could figure out why some white folks thought they were better than blacks, when they weren't nearly as polite, and didn't even keep up their yards nearly as nice.

Now because some of my customers were handicapped, or couldn't get all the way down their driveway with ease, I would walk the papers up to their door. I had about a half dozen of these.
One of them was home to one of those annoying little yippy dogs. You know the kind. They resound like nails on a chalk board, and their owners must have been deafened by them, because they seem to not be able to hear them.
Every day, without fail, I would walk up this lady's drive to be met by such a dog. This dog clearly was saying "Hey you! Get Out of here! This is my house, and you don't belong here! I'm tellin my mommy on you!" Look, it's 4am, I have 2 jobs, and no patience for this, which was clearly not part of the job description. Most animals like me right off, but this one sure didn't. I don't really like yippy dogs either, so we're even.
Almost.
To make it really even, I decide to talk back, but I can't be heard cussing out folks dogs, or word would get around that I'm a big fat meany, so I began talking to it in a voice that anyone who could hear my voice but not the words, would think I was being nice. I told that little yippy dog [in a voice that a toddler would love] "Why, aren't you just the ugliest little thing? Yes, you are! Yer just the uglyiest little thing. Look at you! My cat is bigger than you are. Yes, she is. You little ugly bugger you!" Every day I insulted that little dog while it chased me down and then back up the driveway, nipping and yipping it's threats at me.
After some months of this, there came a day I didn't see it out, so I put the paper by the side door like I always do, and high tailed it outa there, happy that my ear drums were gonna get a break that day.
About halfway down the street, I catch something in my rear veiw mirror. It's that stupid little dog. I stopped the car and got out. I couldn't believe it! That annoying little dog missed yipping at me, and had to chase me down to make it's day complete! Knowing little dogs don't like to be grabbed around the middle, I carefully scooped him up in my forearms, and got in the car with him in my lap. I backed the car up all the way to his house, stopped, got out, and carried the dog to his door. The lady hadn't heard the dog bark, so she came out to see whay he wasn't yipping, and see's me there holding her dog. I told her that I found him running down the street, thinking, surely she would scold him for this, if not the yipping, and she gasped and said "I can't believe you're holding him, and he's not biting you! He hates everybody!"
Turns out the lady could hear him. He was her "newspaper" alarm. She purposely put him out every morning before I came by, knowing he'd yipp annoyingly at me, because he hated everybody!
Except me - now.
Great. Just what I need - a yippy dog for a friend.
Darn dog fooled us both didn't he?

Ember & The Exploding Lamp Oil Bottle

Every week, my friend and I go out Saling. We buy stuff we need/want for our homes including groceries. Now I hear-tell that used groceries can be rather unsavory, so we buy used stuff instead, saving our money for new, sale priced groceries. We headed north this week, and I guess I shouldn't have been surprised at the number of "Free Kittens" signs I saw.
It's a shame they don't just fix their cats, when clearly they are broken.
I've been wanting another cat, since I had to let go of Oz last fall. Well, not just a cat, really - truth be known, I'd really just like Oz back, but he's waitin for me on the bridge. There was just something about him. We needed each other. He was an older cat in a shelter with a limited shelf life. He never talked, he just indicated his needs with a pleading stare, or wave of his paw, and I guess focussing on his needs kept my mind off of my own fading dreams at the time. The 13 years he was with me was way too short, but we are both in better places now.
Which is why I did not come home with a kitten.
I do have a short haired-teenaged-back-talkin-cat, that my daughter begged for 2 years ago, and hasn't fed once. I would like a fluffy cat to cuddle with, cuz Ember [think smoldering fire] isn't very cuddley. I have been teachin her, though. I pick her up, give her a big fat kiss, and then put her down before she has time to complain, and I think it's beginning to work. Now when shes sees me comming, and flops on her back to tease me, she doesn't chew on my hand as much when I fall for it - and I always do. At least once a day, she comes to me wanting to sit on my lap, and tuck her nose under my arm. Sometimes, she follows me downstairs, aka "lair of the evil snake" which means she trusts me to protect her from the air compressor. So while she's not squishy cuddly, we do seem to have an understanding: She's all I've got, and I'm all she's got.

After a long day of saling, I got home, and slowly began to unload and unpack stuff. One of my purchases was a bottle of lamp oil for 10 cents. I was tired - gonna putting this last thing away, saving the rest of the stuff for later. Sometimes, I'm just a bit meticulous, and noticing a dent in the bottle, I had to fix it. I loosened the the cap, and it appeared to be going successfully, and then the darn thing exploded all over me. I think I stood there dripping in oil, shocked that plastic would break apart like that. I was almost completely covered, ruining my favorite tank top [actually purchased new!], so there was to be no damage control - except for how to get myself to the bathroom without dripping oil on the way. I lathered up with Body&Bath's Black Amethyst [bought on sale - but normally reserved for special osscasions] shower gel to lift my spirits as well as the oil off of my skin. I got out, dried off, went back downstairs to put a piece of cardboard over the spot, so no one else would walk in it until I could clean it and started to go to bed.
Hmm, I seem to be missing a critter.
Where is Ember?
Found her in a corner lookin confused. She musta been right behind me when the oil exploded, cuz there she was, furr all slick & spikey lookin, and she didn't look happy. Darn it! The longer I think about it, the worse it will be. I turned on the bath water once again, quickly grabbed her, squirted the Black Amethyst down her back [why not?] and held her under the faucet with one hand, while rubbing her down with the other. She seemed a bit shocked at first, but that may have been left over shock from the oil explosion. She did seem to like the warm water cascading down her back, and the massage didn't hurt either. After, I hugged her up in a giant fluffy towel, which she completely soaked, no easy feat for a short haired cat.
She still didn't come to bed with me, probably sulking and licking herself dry most of the night, but this mornin, she doesn't seem to be mad at me, even though she is still a bit greasy.
Maybe she is sucking up to me so I won't give her another bath?

Update: I really feel bad, but what more could I do? I didn't know she got hit with the oil or I woulda stuffed her in the shower with me. It wouldn't be the first time I took a shower with a cat. [but that's a story for another time]
She was sick for a few days. Sick, laying around not eating much, and weirdly affectionate. After a coupla days, she began eating and following me around, climbing in my lap, and all clingy and stuff. A silly person would think her to be greatful cuz I saved her life, but remember this is a teen-aged-back-talkin cat, and ya'll know that teanagers only talk to their parents when they want something . . .
While I was petting her, I noticed some tuffs of hair stickin up funny. I put on my reading glasses and poked around to discover some flaky skin. I got a fine tooth comb and began combing her head, and she began to purr. Yep, her hair is commin out, and her head itches.


Her new nickname is, . . you guessed it - Baldy.

Meat - Beating the system Part 1

I don't know about yall, but the price of meat was begining to irk me. I don't eat a lot of steak, so $10 for a nice T bone isn't a problem. but almost $4 lb for hamburger is. I have this whole system going on where I have at any given time, a supply of pattied hamburgers, packaged cooked hamburger, and shaped meat loaves ready to cook. Unlike the rest of the world, I am not willing to pay someone to operate a machine to make hamburger patties for me, plus I think hand shaped ones taste better.
So my system allows me to make a meal in less time, that tastes better, and I know what's in it. - I think.
I got up one morning and was relieved to see that summer wasn't just a rumour after all. mmmmmmm a grilled burger would be great! I'm going to buy some hamburger and patty them up today!
I found myself at one of those "Clubs" looking at hamburger that was $2.89 a pound, but I know I have purchased it for less, so I passed it by. While picking up the rest of the items on my "Club" list, I spied at a box of angus bacon and cheese burgers - $12 for a box of 12 1/4lb burgers, and thought to myself that's about $4 a lb, which isn't too bad, but then I realised that I was paying for the bacon and cheese, plus they were those machine pressed ones, and decided I could do better.
My quest begins at finding/making hamburger for as close to $2 lb as possible. A sudden desire to buy a grinder and grind up thoser cheaper cuts of meat popped into the forefront of my always busy brain. Oh, I have one of those antique grinders, but it has no blades. Yeah, I'd like to kick myself for it, but instead I think I'm gonna go out there and find me a grinder with the blades, and then I'm gonna grind me up my own burgers!
I went home with only my short list of purchases, and the dream of an awesome burger in my future.
The next day, I went out "Saling" as my husband calls it, and at the second garage sale, I found it. An old meat grinder with 4 plates for $3. Great, now all I need is the meat. The next morning my daughter announced to me she had a track meet that day, so I dutifully went and after about 4 hours, I was board out of my skull. Had I known it was an all day affair, destined to reek havoc on my back, I would have planned better. Packed a lunch, brought my back brace, ect. After her last race, when she assured me there was only an hour left, I ran to the local grocery store that I remember having good prices on meat. I was disappointed to discover they didn't have any "Hamburger" only ground sirloin for about $5 lb! but I did find some Angus Denver steaks marked down to $1.99lb, and grabbed both of those. That was only about 4 lbs, so I looked for more and found a package of boneless porkchops, also for $1.99lb and got it too. So now I have about 6 lbs of meat for $12. OK, so now we have matched that Club price. All I have to do is make it work.

The next day, I got all my stuff ready to go, when I noticed that these old grinders that clamp to a countertop didn't quite make the trip on my newer counter top. If I used my kitchen table, it would leave a mark, but the biggest obsticle seemed to be that once clamped on to the edge, it faced the wrong way, and only stood about 4" from the surface of the table, making it impossible to get a bowl under it. Now here's one of the many things I love about my huband. He's a wood worker, and can make anything. Yes, ANYthing! He was currently making a set of bow front cabinets, which takes a lot of time calculating, making jigs, and bending wood, and here I run into the shop with my grinder and a bowl and tell him I need a stand for the grinder to clamp on that will hold it above the bowl, with a platform for the bowl to sit on that's big eoungh to clamp to the table so the whole thing won't tip over when I crank down on the grinder. He's got wood and shavings all over, and I need this in about an hour so that he can grill us burgers for dinner. If that didn't wreck his train of thought, poor guy . . . but he loves me so
He did it!





I was fortunate to have found an old Hall mixing bowl that was 14" wide and about 8" tall and held 2 gallons [for a mere $10] on one of my Saling trips. I just knew I would need a giant bowl like this one day!
So I got my frozen peppers, fresh onions, bacon, cheese and meat all cut up and ready to go, and procede to layer it all in by feeding it into the grinder in an alternating fashion. It was amazingly easy! I say amazing, because I was wondering to myself the whole 15 minutes of time it took, why no one else does this? When it was all done, I gently tossed it like a salad, so's not to compress the meat. I pattied those up into 6 ounces, and set aside 3 for us. When I was finished, I got 17 - 6 ounce burgers, as opposed to the measily 4 once ones that Club was trying to pass off on me. and for about the same price! If I add in the $2 for the cheese and bacon, I paid only $2 more, but got 5 more burgers, plus mine are 2 ounces bigger, so I think I done good!

How did they taste? I will have you know we were just a bit skeptical, and didn't add any lettuce, tomato pickles or the like, figuring if they turn out bad we didn't want to waste those things, and if they are really good, they don't need em anyway. Turns out they were really good, and we raced to split that 3rd burger. I won and got the bigger half. My wonderful husband then turned to me and says what he always says when I make something great, "You can make that again!"
and I will.

Now if you want to make them exactly like I did: I used 4 lbs Angus Denver steaks, with a lil bit of fat trimmed off, 2 lbs of boneless pork chops, 2 handfuls of frozen green peppers, and 2 handfulls of frozen sweet peppers, one whole onion, a 2 ounces of cooked crumbled bacon, and an 8 ounce bag of cheese. The peppers must be frozen so they don't turn to mush when they run through the grinder. You can buy frozen peppers, but I buy fresh in season and wash, cut, and freeze them myself for way less. Our grocery store sells them for $2 each, but I can buy enough at a farmers market to fill a gallon Zip lock bag for the same $2. I only cut the meat into 2" wide by 3" or 4" long pieces. The screw thingy in the grinder pulls them in pretty well, and I used the 2nd to the largest grinding plate. There are 4 plates if you buy one of these things. For the record, peroxide is what you want to clean your cutting board, and untinsels with - before and after. Bleach is just ok, but peroxide is better.

Meat - Beating the system Part 2

Failure.
I was out shopping, and saw ground chuck was on sale for $1.99 a pound. Well now that our burgers needs had been met for a little while, I was still running low on pre-cooked ground beef in my freezer, so I grabbed 8 lbs of it, thinking of possibly getting more after I cook this up.
Well I am glad I only wasted money of 8 lbs of this mess! I usually get a 12 ounce package of meat for every pound I cook. Because my daughter is in track and eating a lot of spaghetti, I decide to make up some 8 ounce packages. For my $16 and trouble, I got exactly EIGHT 8 ounce packages of cooked ground chuck!
I was puzzled for awhile, because I have, in the past ended up with more meat with even lesser grades of hamburger than ground chuck, and ground chuck is known to be kind of lean . . . and there wasn't that much fat in the pan, . . and in fact I didn't even have to drain the pan in between portions of meat.
That could only mean one thing: Water.
I bet they don't know I weigh my stuff. Yes, I have a postal scale, and am NOT afraid to use it!
I also do not pay for water. I get mine FREE from the ground, filtered the way God intended. I do pay for the electric pump to get it in the house so I can live all civilized and stuff. Big deal. My point is I don't pay for water, and will never buy meat from that store again! Yep, the same store that sells the peppers for $2 EACH.

Meat - Beating the system Part 3

After the dismal failure with the watered down ground chuck, and still needing to have enough cooked ground beef in my freezer to feed us after my teenager eats her fill, or maybe just being a gluton for punishment, I will try this again.
Armed with my grinder, and determined to search for any meat that was around $2 lb, I found some Angus Beef Chuck roast that was buy one get one free. It was $4.49 lb, so if I do it right, I can get it for $2.24lb. which is close enough as long as, after I grind it and cook it, I end up with more than half what I started with. 12 ounces per lb after cooking would be grand!

I won't even get started on why I hate Buy-One-Get-One-Free for items with differing prices, but lets just say I ain't stupid. The 2nd one ain't free unless it's the same price as the first.

Now the match game begins. I look at a price, and dig to see if I can find a matching price. Start with a $14 one. Flip through, and nope, but I think I saw 2 that were $11, so I dig through the pile again, grab one that's $11.54, and after about 8 tries, I find a 2nd one for $11.49 BINGO!
Those are about 2 1/2 lbs, so I've got about 5 lbs for $11.54
I want to get close to 10 lbs, so lets try again.
Seems like I saw quite a few $9 ones, so here we go again. After digging and sorting them by price, I found a $9.74 and a $9.38. Couldn't get any closer, so for $9.74, I will get another 4 lbs.
We are at $21.28 for 9 lbs now. [$2.36lb]
Of course what fun would Price Match Bingo be if all is lost at the checkout, where the computer, oblivious to may hard work, rings up both the $11 ones, and gives me the $9 ones for free?
Can you say "Self Check Out?
Those are fun aren't they?
This from a person who can build a computer from scratch, but once at a self serve checkout lane, I am at the mercy of a computer that tells me where to put stuff, and when, after I pass it over the bar code reader, turing it this way and that to get it to ring up. How humiliating to be told to put stuff in a bag, while I am trying my darndest to open the freakin cheap plastic film that is all stuck together in one flimsy mass, that I can only assume is intended to be a "bag" once I can free it.
Finally got 2 chunks of meat in a "Bag" dig out my STOOPID store shopper card that they think it's cute to make you use [but I fooled them by filling it out with fake information because Disney will never care about the few things Mickey buys at this store], get my discount, and then comes the Debit Card Rummy.
I push "Finish" on one screen while a smaller one tells me to scan my card.
Earlier in the day I played Gas Station Treasure hunt, only to find that the cheapest one was 10 cents higher at the pump then the sign said. When I went in to complain, they told me it was the cash price, so I paid cash, and now I have to use my debit card at this manical machine in the grocery store.
Yeah, they say computers aren't personal, but I am sure this one is.
After scanning my card, it asks me if the total is ok, and I press yes, and it asks if it's debit or credit, and knowing I get a bonus for using credit, I push that one, then it asks me to sign, which I do, and then it does nothing. I wait for a minute, but still nothing. Finally I notice the other screen telling me to select payment method. I select credit [again because appearently these two screens don't communicate with each other?] and wham bam, it all went through. I don't know where the reciept spit out, or even if it did, but I got my stuff, and now . .
Ya know I gotta do this again, right?
Feeling smarter this time, I prepared the flimsy plastic into bag-like objects before scanning my 2nd set of meat. Same repeat performance other wise, though.
and that is why I rarely shop at this store.

Alright, this meat took a little more gusto, and I did indeed have to clamp the platform to the table. It cooked up much nicer with less fat in the pan and I ended up with just about 12 - 8ounce packages or 6 pounds after cooking it.
So the first 8lb batch @$1.99lb turned into bascially $4lb after cooking,
and this one, which by the way, tasted better as I nibbled at it, turned out to be $3.55 per cooked pound. Not fantastic, butcha know, it could be worse. I saw some hamburger with someones name on it, like Loraine or something and she was about $7lb raw.
Just who does she think she is?