I spent a year working for Arby's when I was 18, using my natural charm and the fact that I had no business whatsoever working in the fast food industry to catapult through the ranks from cashier to slicer, the man that handles the meat. We'd lug the plastic sacks of meatish-substance from the walk-in fridge to the oven, tear the substance free of its prison and shove it into the heat box before it had a chance to scream.
One time I accidentally stuck my finger all the way through one of these roasts. The several hundred times I did it after that don't count as accidents.
I'm not sure how the meat in the photograph has such clean edges and even color. My guess is they sent someone down the street to the grocery store to get some real roast beef. That or Photoshop—this meat substance never looks this good in person.
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