Auxiliary Kitchen Labor Reclassified as Ceremonial Presence

Three chapters swore Gladys supplied
The same potato dish, sanctified.
She’d been retired for years,
But in ledgerland, dears,
Her mayonnaise still never died.

The active ones lifted and baked,
While the praise for the labor got faked.
Someone else hauled the pan,
But the record still ran
On the saint whose casserole ached.

Treasurers looked at the split
And decided it wasn’t quite shit.
Not fraud, just old grace
Still attached to the place,
Where the thanks outlived who carried it.

They could fix who was thanked and repaid,
But the whole hall might feel over-weighed.
So they left warmth in place,
Though it warped every case,
For cold accuracy chills the buffet.

The record says Gladys cooked this.
The clerk didn’t notice a miss.
It’s easier just
To continue the trust,
And leave the old name in abyss.

The points were accrued to the old,
As the database metrics foretold.
The labor was moved,
While the credit improved,
And the ledger did just as it’s told.

The recipes morphed into prayer,
And Gladys is permanently there.
The kitchen relies
On the saints who devise
The salads of sacred despair.

The name on the record remained.
The dish on the table was gained.
The credit was stored
On the usual board.
The system is fully maintained.