Overheard conversation today: “I’ve got two newbies working the cheese counter today, and we are running low on slices of blue. They’re gonna need some help cutting the cheese over there. Keep your eye out for the cheese guy from Venus.”
Times are hard in my fair city. Security cameras are focused on the cheese counter at my local big box organo-store. Wheels of Idiazabal have gone missing.
Several months ago, some guy started coming into the store, extolling all the virtues of a raw sheep’s milk cheese from the Spanish Pyrenees region. Some of his random (paraphrased) thoughts:
“How pure the rainwater is that falls on the rounded hills, giving this cheese a mountain perfume and inescapable butter quality”
“The smoked aspect of idiazabal harkens back to a tradition started by Basque shepherds, when they would store the cheese in the stone chimneys of their seasonal alpine huts”
“My diet consists only of cheese”
I’m sure it started out innocently enough. A free sample, in line with the store’s policy, was probably all Cheese Man from Venus wanted. Soon thereafter, he was already feeling his addiction and asking to buy entire wheels of idiazabal (taking advantage of another generous store policy: 10% off all wheels). But he would bring back the wheels after a few days, saying that he made a mistake in purchasing so much cheese. So, the cheese counter cut him off. Now inventories are out of whack and numbers can’t be justified.
Film is rolling.
Security is on alert.
Cheese doesn't walk.
Better go vegan and stick to the bulk legume aisle, Cheese Man!
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