The Greek men grope about blindly, but can't seem to locate you in the misty meat locker.
Occasionally a hand will brush past your shoulder or your tush, sending you into a tizzy.
Finally, this much men and meat in one room is too much, and you blow jizz all about the room.
When the fog clears, you are standing in a room full of medium-rare slabs of steak coated in jizz, and two very impressed Greek men.
One of them pulls some meat off of a slab and munches on it. He smiles and motions for the other man to do the same.
He does, and the men speak among themselves for a moment and then bring in their brother to translate.
"My brothers,"
he informs you in a heavy Greek accent. "Would like to hire you.
Sell jizz-steak."
"I want 86K per year, with a 10% bonus based on merit. Full medical, dental, and company car."