"89!"..."85!"..."bio!", The beefy lady with crispy red hair and thick glasses behind the counter calls out after a swirl, sniff, and sip. Her coworker dutifully notes her responses in a small notebook and hands her another from a flight of glasses carefully lined up next to the cigarettes. Those aren't vintages of Chardonnay she is sampling at wine O'clock; she's blind tasting the fuels for purity and octane and she's dead on. "89!"
After a few glasses she turns and takes a fat scoop from a bowl of chicken nuggets and barbecue sauce that she eats like cereal to cleanse her palate and keep her senses sharp. How did she get like this? Where is she from? They say she grew up the lone girl in a house full of boys, hiding in the tool shed honing her tasting abilities while her brothers threw rocks at each other. Tea parties weren't her thing and by the end of high school, her calling was clear.
She can smell a lie, they say, but She's nearly blind from the fumes and her glasses don't do much to help so if she's working you can usually get away with stealing some lighters or Twix from right under her nose. But her coworker is a fat bitch who can run like a pig and will chase your guilty ass down Roosevelt road and tackle you in the dirt. read more
