Easton Cooper
Mr. K
English 8
3/27/18
Fake Spam Meat
It all started a 3 weeks ago when John went to Scottsville to do the monthly check for Shmurger Bing Burgers. In his career as a food and health inspector for SBB, John had met some oddities. One of which was in the restaurant in the newly developed part of Squirrel Town. After seeing the olive-tomato-spinach-lettuce-bell pepper mixture in the ground beef container, he ordered that this restaurant “to be closed immediately without other inspection further.”
John thought this was the worst possible thing anyone could ever see. He just couldn’t believe that something so atrocious could go on in his favorite Shmurger Bing Burgers restaurant. But what happened there wasn’t nearly as bad as what was to come for John, but he didn’t know that yet.
Another of the horrifyingly wicked and terrible habits of SBB restaurants was to continually put hot sauce in the ketchup. Most of the time it just added an unexpected kick to the sauce but in the restaurant in New Cork City, New Cork, it was tested and estimated to be about 1.5 million scoville units. Let’s just say, both of these restaurants were quickly closed due to “unexplainable atrocities.”
Scottsville was a town that would be Monday if it was a person. It was a town of big, fat, burly, terrible, alienistic, hairy, and overall gruesome people. There was no sit down, pleasant diner, only fast food. That’s all they ate. Fat people are fat for a reason. They don’t just one day go from a nice 215 lbs to a flabby 350 lbs. For 10 years the restaurant in Scottsville had been open and It’s not because it was clean enough and the food was sanitary, it was because nobody had been there in 10 years. The last inspector that went there came back a week later and swore to never again eat at a SBB restaurant. The funny thing is, he still didn’t quit his job at SBB, he just went along working without consuming a single French fry.
So as it turned out, the SBB President, Captain Bartholomew Warshtishiar, ordered one of his unlucky inspectors to drive the horrifying 75. 25 miles to Scottsville. Of course none of the other inspectors, including John, wanted to die from diabetes in Scottsville, so they drew straws. There were seven inspectors and seven sticks. A 14.29% chance to end up in an asylum due to seeing unexplainable things. Well, luckily for John, he was one of the lucky six that didn’t have to go. Unfortunately for John, the “Chosen One” opted out due to sickness. John was pretty sure he was faking, but he couldn’t blame him, he knew he would do the same. So they had to pick straws again and karma slapped John in the face by making him pick the short stick.
He would’ve rather eaten 10 cockroaches at the same time, than drive the 75.25 miles. He tried to make a plan to drive around and fake going to Scottsville and just fill out the checklist but his arch enemy coworker caught him and escorted to the nearest one way, no shoulder bridge leading to Scottsville. So John slowly crept his Buick into the nasty little town. He didn’t think anybody would notice him, and hoped it too. So he tried to park his black Verano in the heavily wooded area to the east of Scottsville as silently as possible. But, just as he was shutting the door to get out, a smelly and hairy dude in a farmer’s outfit put his hand around John and asked him what he was doing here. John told him warily that he was here for the yearly health inspection. The man’s grip tightened and he urged John to come with him into the rundown building of SBB.
The smell. The horrifying smell. The smell couldn’t be described in one English word. It was a like a mixture of dead fish, spoiled milk, molded fries, and burnt spam(not just any spam, burnt spam). The cook was the worst one though! He had a “kiss the chef” apron on, but the apron wasn’t fully together. It was tattered and ripped on the edges, and had some terrible mashed “food” on it. The chef’s ugly face appeared to be molded too. John thought he might even see one of the man’s many fat rolls. He check wildly around the room and only saw one exit. It must’ve been where he came in. Now, John was told that to know if the restaurant should stay open, he had to try the food.
“Pick a food off the menu and we’ll serve it to you pronto.” ordered the chef.
“Ummm, I guess I’ll have the number one?”said John after mentally discussing which of the poisons he would try. 5 minutes later, John took a bite out of the burger set before him.
It did not taste like a normal Bing Burger. The lettuce and meat were different. John asked the chef warily what the meat was made of.
“Spam,” he boasted, “the greatest thing since, well, ever!”
“You mean, the stuff out of a can that has periods in between each letter? That stuff?” John inquired.
“Of course, just I add a special classified mixture of my own to it!” he declared.
John tried to ask him what was in this mixture, but he was stopped and told to shut up about the meat or the chef would make him a permanent worker here. So he questioned about the lettuce.
“Where, uh, do you, um, prepare the lettuce?” John questioned.
He showed me a container with brown lettuce flattened with an enormous footprint in it. He said as he put his foot in the container,
“I walk around right here and sometimes do a little jig as well. But that’s alright, I can do that without my shop being closed can’t I Professional?” he asked John as he slipped him a $20 bill.
“Yep. Now if you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll be going, uh, because my work here is complete. Your shop with, um, remain open.” John stated regretfully. They finally let him go. On the ride home, John stopped at a truck stop and washed his hair with water from the sink to get the smell of Shmurger Bing Burgers fast food off of him. He finally got home and immediately took a 30 minute shower before doing anything. During the shower he emptied half a bottle of soap.
He then drove his fast food smelling car to the inspector’s office and told the employees everything. He then had an office party celebrating his return. He was given an award and told the Shmurger Bing Burgers President that the restaurant in Scottsville was to be closed “without further inspection due to sub-par health conditions.”
Soon enough in the newspaper it showed that the dreaded restaurant had been closed. The police shut down the SBB there due to sanitary reasons and calmed down the riots from the people there as well. John felt good about what he’d done and knew that he would keep working as a food inspector because he now realized that nothing could be as horrifying as what he had already been through.