Partly Cloudy, 64°
Ah, the scents. The sounds. The ambiance. There's nary a place I'd rather be than in a dank, unlit room full of assembly lines, knives covered in old meat, and carcasses. Nowhere can you get that happy feeling, when you are stealing that extra hunk of meat to feed your increasingly desperate and starving family.
The mystique that surrounds this old factory building in Trenton, New Jersey is unlike anything you can experience anywhere else in the world. That is, unless you know where to find another meat rendering plant, or a huge pile of garbage. There's always something in the air that suggests majesty, and the hustle and bustle of the everyday at the plant evokes the memory of a bygone era. Also, there's lots and lots of meat there.
You'll never meet a better group of people than the guys and girls (well, to tell the truth, no woman works within a 10-mile radius of the plant) at the Johnston Meat Rendering Plant. There's Dave, Mac, and Robby. There's Hooks, Danger Phil, and Knuckles. There's Old Len, who's somehow managed to avoid being crushed to death by a dangerous piece of machinery, all the way up to the ripe old age of 34. Stop by and say hello, but be extra loud, because his hearing's starting to go, and he's surrounded by whirring electronic meat-crushers.
There's no people like meat people. They smile when they are low on blood sugar, because they know they'll receive the same level of medical coverage whether they decide to profess their illness or feign wellness. But it's ok. Our boss is a great man. Just treat him with respect, and he'll do the same for you. Just don't make fun of his lazy eye. Or challenge him to a race. And please, for the love of God, don't talk to him about President Truman. Being flogged with a switch is hardly worth the conversation.
Do we get paid? Yes, of course we get paid! No, no, we don't get paid in money. I apologize for misunderstanding your question. Our payment comes in the form of companionship. You're never alone in the meat packing industry. Even if you're the only person left in the factory, it never feels like you're alone, because there are so many cow bodies hanging from the rafters. So, it's a win-win, I guess.
The aura of the meat packing industry is unrivaled. The tradition is undeniable. I'm sure you all remember when you were young, and your momma took you out on that oh-so-bright summer day to the local meat rendering plant. The sun shone in your eyes; the glint hardly allowed you to stretch your eyelids upwards and take in the beautiful sights surrounding you. The light hit you at just the right angle, you walked into a beef shank, and something about the whole day just felt right. The rotting corpses, the disgusting crunching sounds, Old Len yelling at you about how much his leg hurts.
Yeah, alright. This place is kind of a hellhole.
