In town, Mazie and I drop by the Safeway to get some expired meat. The nice lady behind the counter says they have plenty. But she can’t give it to me. If she did, she would get fired. Fair enough. I exit and circle back around to rifle through the dumpster only to discover that it’s hermetically sealed and accessible only via a closed chute that leads in from the store.
Yet again the ravens have provided a new lens through which to see the world. Without them, I wouldn’t know this wonderful fact about Safeway. As my friend Kerry pointed out, “it’s safe.” We can’t get expired meat there. Or rather, meat that has passed “the date”.
And what is this thing about the “date”? It’s basically a random number designed to keep the store “safe” from liability. How often have we purchased food that’s bad before the date or stays fresh for weeks after? But we often treat the “date” as gospel. Despite the reality that truly good food has no date because a) it comes fresh from a field or animal or b) is so unladen with preservatives that it will of course turn immediately.
The nice lady behind the meat counter, though, gives me her husband’s phone number. He works in animal control. Basically kills raccoons and things that bother people. Nice.
We may be able to use the rotting carcasses, however. He says he’ll get back to me after he checks the regulations.
God knows. They’re dead. We’re not. All safe.