Bookmark Project - Red Hibiscus Stamen (flowers and blooms) / A Final Thought about the Slaughterhouse

This picture in its entirety was posted recently, but because it's my all-time favorite of the flowers and blooms decided to post it again as a bookmark.  I've printed this one a dozen times for family and friends.

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[continued from yesterday's post; series started 10/20]

So how do I conclude this series of slaughterhouse stories.  Probably with the question/comment I get most, which is, "I'll bet you couldn't stand to eat meat after working there!"

Actually the opposite is true.  I saw first-hand how standards of cleanliness were enforced by the FDA.  The floor had at least six of them roaming around at all times, scrutinizing every move we made to ensure that we followed all the rules: no picking anything up off the floor; use the (steam-heated) hand sterilizers between every carcass processed; return and exchange a knife it it's been dropped, etc. etc.  They would also look for unsanitary conditions everywhere, even ensuring that the brick floor was squeaky clean.  And they would diligently check product for things that shouldn't be there, such as strands of hair or stomach contents.  We all got nervous when an inspector ordered a box to be opened in our work area, which could happen anywhere at any time, then examine closely whatever was in there.  I once got dinged because two strands of hair were found in a box of my lips, and a couple of guys had to work overtime during the A shift to open every single box in the pallet and get all the hairs out.  This was not an uncommon sight on the floor.  Very tedious work, but some were glad for the opportunity to earn a little extra dough.

I remember one of the inspectors very well...in fact he was the head of the inspection team on B shift.  He was a little guy - all of about 4'10" tall - but was mean enough to strike fear if he wandered into your work area.

It's one thing to get a reprimand from the feds on meat that wasn't up to standard, but an absolutely fireable offense was consuming product on the floor.  Here we were surrounded by meat, and what could be more fresh?  It was the practice of some workers to take the little salt and pepper packets out of the cafeteria during break and bring them out on the floor to season meat that was clandestinely cooked in the hand sterilizers.  I did this but once, for some heart meat, and thought it was great.  But only once, as my conscience wouldn't allow it to become a habit; I bought heart meat at the supermarket thereafter.  And if I saw an IBP logo on a box in the back through a door, wondered if I was the one that packed it in the first place.

So this ends the series on my experiences at IBP.  Of course there is much, much more but it's all out there somewhere, and we'll just let it rest for now...