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Tales From The Slaughter House

This week of work is different than the past. This week, I have been chosen. This week, I must rise to the challenge and become victorious.

This week, I'm shedding off my "observing meat" coil and learning how to operate the skinner.
What, you may ask, is a skinner? A skinner is a machine that involves you to wear huge yellow rubber mitts so you feel like a clown, in order to protect your hands from the blade that will shear fat and membrane off of a piece of meat. Aren't you glad you asked?

At any rate, I'm content with this since:

  1. It pays $1 an hour more, and
  2. Anything has to be better than watching meat

So, yesterday, I many watched people skin different parts of animal. Today, I tried skinning the "knuckle". I wasn't half bad. There is different skinning types as well (how much fat left on, etc.). All was going well, until the order changed.

The cut of meat changed, and didn't require any pieces of meat to be skinned or trimmed. Which suddenly got rid of half of the jobs in my department. After browsing in other departments to see if they needed my services, I was sent back to my kingdom, named by the Powers That Be as "Ham boning". To scrape floors.

See, as meat is cut, trimmed, skin, knawed on, what-have-you, pieces can go flying. You can step of this offending renegade meat, fall, and hurt yourself. So, we have floor scrapers that pick up meat and garbage.

No one likes the floor scrapers. No one talks to the floor scrapers. No one acknowledges the existence of the floor scrapers. If you compared this to high school stereotypes, these are the people that the losers snubbed. The rejects of the rejects.

And now, I was a honourary member.

No, scratch that. Since I had to scrape floor, no one talked to me, except two guys I know, who just pointed and laughed. One cutie who had asked if I had a boyfriend last week didn't recognize me. The floor scrapers didn't talk to me since I was an imposer, an imposter.

What can be worse than that? Oh, let me tell you...

Apparently, I wasn't doing it right, and got demoted.

*insert Jeopardy music*
ALEX: The answer is: Lower than a floor scraper.
CONTESTANT #1: What is "Assistant floor scraper".
ALEX: That is correct, Contestant #1. You have the board...

So, I followed this guy I dubbed "Squeegee Boy" with a bucket on wheels and a shovel. That is what I did for hours. I experienced it all: denial, bitterness, homicidal rage, suicidal tendencies, and obliteration. With 5 minutes remaining, and I was using every bit of me to try to make it, the Head Floor Scraper (who demoted me) proclaimed I did a good job.

I now have the skills to be a floor scraper. Sratch that.... I still need my Squeegee Boy. Shoot me, please.