I started work at a food processing plant last week. I am in the section that makes salads. That sloppy juicey fruitsalad, the coleslaw that is chopped into little squares and will never ever taste like the hand made goodness your mother came up with, the pasta salad that has that peculiar sauce so tangy that it has almost off taste to it... For a whopping total of three days I have had a hand in some of these culinary tragedies.
It's a combination of "work is work" and "please shoot me now".
It's an experience - yet another thing to slip into the mental scrapbook of things I've seen and done. Another line to gauge further into the carving that is Vic. I've never worked in large scale food production of that type before so I can't say that I'm not interested to see what goes on. However there's no passion. I'm in a room all day with people who couldn't give a shit, making salads to be sold by people who couldn't give a shit to be eaten by who couldn't give a shit. I'm not being helpful toward the society that I want. I'm part of the stain.
This is not healthy.
Time to go to work.
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2 comments:
how long do you plan to stay?
I will never eat salads again without thinking of you... when they are that highly processed can you actually call them salads???
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