I'm dropping out of college to become a meat cutter

So today I awoke at 6:59 a.m., put on my blood-red tie, strapped on my apron, affixed the mandatory gloves to my belt loop, tied my Hush Puppies, used an electric shaver, got a burning sensation on my neck, kissed my mother, shook my dad's hand, inadvertently kicked the dog, then sped off in the Mazda towards store #4513 all the while anticipating my mysterious day labeled "Meat Cutter" rather than "Courtesy Clerk" on the work schedule.

Would they actually have me cut meat despite my lack of training? Would my precious fingers be in danger?

Well, the only time I ended up using a knife was to open some frozen fish fillets wrapped in plastic. And my fingers survived. The rest of the day was spent being assistant to "Will", a substitute meat department manager whose disdain for the regular manager's laziness was only exceeded by his adoration of the appearance of a few shopping mothers. I stocked lunch meat, slapped "Thin - Serves More!" stickers on meat packages, and sheepishly agreed with Will on the size of the "monsters" on that woman with the stroller over there.

Aside from a few blood stains and a new perspective on crass meat cutters, I took away perhaps a decent amount of money from my day.