Cruise 2014 - Belize, Pelican-Topped Beacon / Ecclesiastes on the Kill Floor

Lots of pelicans waiting around to dive at whatever churns up in the wake of vessels passing by.
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(continued from post of 09/30/17)
Being an offal boxer at IBP was an interesting business, but, as stated back on the 30th, there wasn't as much running around the place, and the novelty had worn off a bit.  Loved the hard work, though, and took pride in the fact that for a second summer I was able to stick around while so many others came and went.

One facet of working there was the presence of so many "foreigners" on the floor.  Amarillo, at the time, had a substantial Laotian population, and I remember seeing an ethnic grocery store for the first time on Amarillo Blvd heading east to work.  More interesting than that, however, were the Indians (of the Native American variety).  Very few of them lasted long because of their tendency to show up drunk for work.  So the Laotians and Indians, plus the workers from Mexico and Central America, was interesting for someone not used to the mix.  In fact, as the story was told in a post long ago, one of the Mexicans there literally changed my life for the better from that point forward.  God bless Ramón García.

But it happened to be a white guy on the floor that provided my most memorable moment of the summer of 1979.  I was busy boxing up body parts one day and noticed a guy on the gut table that was having a hard time.  He was a fat puller, which at level five was extremely hard work, and barely kept up with the line.  On top of that, his whole demeanor - his facial expressions, the body language, etc. - communicated that he absolutely hated his job and hated being there.  He was a picture of misery during most of our eight-hour shift.

So I took to watching this guy the next day.  Maybe the day before was just a bad day, or perhaps he got fussed at by one of the foremen.  He was new, so could it have simply been too much for him?  Could be that he just wasn't where he wanted to be in life.  Whatever it was, he continued with the general display of bad humor - and bad attitude - as he struggled with the huge sheets of fat.  He was no happier, and didn't appear to be friends with anyone.  I sensed that he was a decent chap, though, so on a lark decided to do something to make him feel better.  After all, what could it hurt?  And who better than Mr. IBP to do something about it?

I'd just been doing some reading from one of my favorite books of the Bible, Ecclesiastes.  After finding a magic marker I located a scrap of paper from somewhere and wrote in large block letters, "Ecclesiastes 2:24".  During a moment when he wasn't struggling so much I handed him the piece of paper, shouting across the moving gut line, "Read this tonight!"  He nodded and stuck the scrap into his front shirt pocket, and I thought, That's either the end of it or it isn't.

Well, it wasn't.  The change in that young man the next day was remarkable.  He smiled just about the whole shift, was friskier in his movements, and I dare say might have become a better fat puller as the result of his change in attitude.  At first I dared not imagine that my scrap of paper made the difference, but he made it clear as he leaned over and shouted in my ear, "I read that verse last night!"

And what did it say?  The verse reads, "A person can do nothing better than to eat and drink and find satisfaction in their own toil.  This too, I see, is from the hand of God." (NIV)