Hot dogs
While horizontal in bed February now 19th 2015 watching the seconds, minutes, and hours move across the clock this is where my mind went. I stayed awake and decided to pen an opus to processed meat. I don't proof read.
The "true" Story of how hotdogs are made in a New York City meat packing plant during the 1980's.
It was an orgy of death with brief hints of life. Freshly slaughtered sides of beef hung routinely from hooks sliding along a track suspended from the ceiling. The floor was not so much a floor as much as it was a grate sticky with the blood of various headless animals. Moving Along in my white coat, white hardhat, and latex gloves a name came to mind, Upton Sinclair. Only God knows the amount of fingers that end up in hotdogs around here on a daily basis. I can look around and see at least five people who I am sure spit in the ground meat three times a day or more. I know understand why it’s called Salmonella, it’s not a bacteria it’s just a guy who goes to the bathroom and improperly washes his hands and his name is simply Sal Monella. He’s an Italian guy from the Bronx with personal hygiene issues.
This job is so much worse than my last one, but I guess it’s the natural evolution of things and if you think about it, it’s kind of humorous. My last job was with a candy company that specialized in fudge and shipped it worldwide. I was in the shipping department. My job was to actually place the orders in the box. So in essence I was a fudge packer. My dad just loved to bring that up in conversations, “Have you met my son the fudge packer? That’s what he does, he packs fudge!”, I am his icebreaker. I figured if got a new job it would stop, but when I told him what my new job was he laughed out loud and said, “You set’em up, I’ll knock’em down.” When I took this job I failed to realize the double entendre that would become my daily life. So instead now being his son the fudge packer I am his son the “meat packer”. It’s funny when you think about it I guess. Anyway you look at it though it’s a job and it paid the bills. Nonetheless it was quite disturbing.
I wasn’t packing the meat. This is actually a full service slaughterhouse and that’s what I did. I did the slaughtering. It was easy as pushing a button. For eight hours a day I sat and pushed a button and drove a spike through the brains of various farm animals: cows, pigs, lambs. I could put a spike through almost anything that had a head. In fact in the late 80’s if you ever ate meat in or around New York city at any kind of fancy restaurant chances are I put I spike through it’s head. If you enjoyed it, I would just like to say your welcome. Oh and if you ever got food poisoning you can direct all your applause towards the wonderful Sal who is still working the grinders to this day. The only difference is the amount of digits that are still functioning on those hands. I am pretty sure someone could eat a bratwurst and not tell the difference between a sausage and that guy's finger, if it in fact ended up in one of this fair city’s food vending carts. I had never met anyone, till I began working here, that literally had to take off his work boot to be able to count to fifteen, but around here the wonders just never seize to amaze.
After a few years of the monotony that was that button. A button that would severe central nervous systems from what they were controlling they moved me somewhere to where my particular skill set would become a greater asset to the company’s future growth and development as a corporate entity. But really I think it was so I wouldn’t ask any questions about the procedures that surrounded the making of ground meat, more specifically the actions that were taken by a certain someone who found it amusing to throw various objects in with the meat. On occasion I could see Sal doing this and brought it up to my supervisor. No one will ever know what’s in hotdogs unless you’re me. In that case I will tell what’s in a hotdog. If you have ever eaten a hot dog you bought in the streets of New York City chances are you have eaten more than your fair share of phone books and mice carcasses that were running around the Slaughterhouse on any given day. You didn’t have to be a genius to work the meat grinder you just had to have the innate ability to use a shovel. If you could identify what you were shoveling though, this would make you grossly over qualified and therefore unable to perform your duties as they pertain to the grinding of meat. Since I was working in such close proximity to the meat-grinding department they did not want my meat grinding ineptitudes to influence those with superior qualifications, so off packing I would go. The good news though, I still got to push a button.
Day in and day out a Styrofoam dishes are placed on a conveyor belt while someone else puts the meat in them then off it would go into the machine where I would press a button and out the other side would come a pile or piece of meat neatly wrapped in plastic wrap ready for sale or shipment. This is my job it’s nothing glamorous nor is there too much thinking involved with it. Although I know I have that power if I need to call on it because I do the New York times cross word puzzle everyday and complete it.
This is also where my childhood dream died and if you could see what I have seen I think you would understand what I am talking about. There used to be a time years ago when I would dream big.
My dream came with a song and it went a little something like this:
Oh, I wish I were an Oscar Mayer wiener
That is what I truly wish to be
‘Cause if I were an Oscar Mayer wiener
Everyone would be in love with me.
Those days are gone now and no longer do I wish to be a wiener. Because if I were an Oscar Meyer wiener and everyone truly was in love with me how could I live with myself, knowing that my entire life would be a lie because I am in fact not an all beef hotdog. Working there has shown me what hotdogs are truly made out of, Sal’s right pinky and what’s left of his balding head. Good-bye dreams and good-bye wieners. I will remember you as a part of my innocent childhood.
The "true" Story of how hotdogs are made in a New York City meat packing plant during the 1980's.
It was an orgy of death with brief hints of life. Freshly slaughtered sides of beef hung routinely from hooks sliding along a track suspended from the ceiling. The floor was not so much a floor as much as it was a grate sticky with the blood of various headless animals. Moving Along in my white coat, white hardhat, and latex gloves a name came to mind, Upton Sinclair. Only God knows the amount of fingers that end up in hotdogs around here on a daily basis. I can look around and see at least five people who I am sure spit in the ground meat three times a day or more. I know understand why it’s called Salmonella, it’s not a bacteria it’s just a guy who goes to the bathroom and improperly washes his hands and his name is simply Sal Monella. He’s an Italian guy from the Bronx with personal hygiene issues.
This job is so much worse than my last one, but I guess it’s the natural evolution of things and if you think about it, it’s kind of humorous. My last job was with a candy company that specialized in fudge and shipped it worldwide. I was in the shipping department. My job was to actually place the orders in the box. So in essence I was a fudge packer. My dad just loved to bring that up in conversations, “Have you met my son the fudge packer? That’s what he does, he packs fudge!”, I am his icebreaker. I figured if got a new job it would stop, but when I told him what my new job was he laughed out loud and said, “You set’em up, I’ll knock’em down.” When I took this job I failed to realize the double entendre that would become my daily life. So instead now being his son the fudge packer I am his son the “meat packer”. It’s funny when you think about it I guess. Anyway you look at it though it’s a job and it paid the bills. Nonetheless it was quite disturbing.
I wasn’t packing the meat. This is actually a full service slaughterhouse and that’s what I did. I did the slaughtering. It was easy as pushing a button. For eight hours a day I sat and pushed a button and drove a spike through the brains of various farm animals: cows, pigs, lambs. I could put a spike through almost anything that had a head. In fact in the late 80’s if you ever ate meat in or around New York city at any kind of fancy restaurant chances are I put I spike through it’s head. If you enjoyed it, I would just like to say your welcome. Oh and if you ever got food poisoning you can direct all your applause towards the wonderful Sal who is still working the grinders to this day. The only difference is the amount of digits that are still functioning on those hands. I am pretty sure someone could eat a bratwurst and not tell the difference between a sausage and that guy's finger, if it in fact ended up in one of this fair city’s food vending carts. I had never met anyone, till I began working here, that literally had to take off his work boot to be able to count to fifteen, but around here the wonders just never seize to amaze.
After a few years of the monotony that was that button. A button that would severe central nervous systems from what they were controlling they moved me somewhere to where my particular skill set would become a greater asset to the company’s future growth and development as a corporate entity. But really I think it was so I wouldn’t ask any questions about the procedures that surrounded the making of ground meat, more specifically the actions that were taken by a certain someone who found it amusing to throw various objects in with the meat. On occasion I could see Sal doing this and brought it up to my supervisor. No one will ever know what’s in hotdogs unless you’re me. In that case I will tell what’s in a hotdog. If you have ever eaten a hot dog you bought in the streets of New York City chances are you have eaten more than your fair share of phone books and mice carcasses that were running around the Slaughterhouse on any given day. You didn’t have to be a genius to work the meat grinder you just had to have the innate ability to use a shovel. If you could identify what you were shoveling though, this would make you grossly over qualified and therefore unable to perform your duties as they pertain to the grinding of meat. Since I was working in such close proximity to the meat-grinding department they did not want my meat grinding ineptitudes to influence those with superior qualifications, so off packing I would go. The good news though, I still got to push a button.
Day in and day out a Styrofoam dishes are placed on a conveyor belt while someone else puts the meat in them then off it would go into the machine where I would press a button and out the other side would come a pile or piece of meat neatly wrapped in plastic wrap ready for sale or shipment. This is my job it’s nothing glamorous nor is there too much thinking involved with it. Although I know I have that power if I need to call on it because I do the New York times cross word puzzle everyday and complete it.
This is also where my childhood dream died and if you could see what I have seen I think you would understand what I am talking about. There used to be a time years ago when I would dream big.
My dream came with a song and it went a little something like this:
Oh, I wish I were an Oscar Mayer wiener
That is what I truly wish to be
‘Cause if I were an Oscar Mayer wiener
Everyone would be in love with me.
Those days are gone now and no longer do I wish to be a wiener. Because if I were an Oscar Meyer wiener and everyone truly was in love with me how could I live with myself, knowing that my entire life would be a lie because I am in fact not an all beef hotdog. Working there has shown me what hotdogs are truly made out of, Sal’s right pinky and what’s left of his balding head. Good-bye dreams and good-bye wieners. I will remember you as a part of my innocent childhood.
innocent childhood.It Ain't gonna happen
I used to think you could be anything you wanted in life. This is a lie that is perpetuated by people older, smarter, and ultimately richer than you. You can’t be anything you want. You can do just about anything you want, but that doesn’t mean it’s going to turn into something that lets you put your mark on the world. Run in the olympics with no legs. No one will care. Unless of course you shoot a hot blonde through a bathroom door a few months later.
The notion that all men are created equal has been so bastardized; I hold this truth to be self-evident. I will concede that all men are inherently created equal, but this does not mean everyone is going to be rich and want for nothing. Such a slim number of people will achieve this. These are the people who will someday stand behind a podium and say, “I never thought I’d be here but this award proves that dreams come true.” NO THEY CAN'T. The FCC should ban this stuff, sorry Kevin Garnett anything is not possible.
Telling people they can be anything they want is a dangerous lie, just like college or don’t mess with Texas. Telling the world they can be anything they want is in way just plain dumb. All men are created equal but some are created even more equal. I can’t be a 7 foot tall NBA All Star Center. Even if I had the ability to be 7 feet tall the odds of me reaching that level are so extreme it would make me delusional to even try. All men are created equal in spirit but not in potential. Not everyone can be whatever he or she wants. You may think you are what you wanted to be but that is the lie you tell yourself now to keep from getting depressed and having an existential crisis. Did you really want to be a market analyst or did you honestly think for the first few years of conscious thought that one day you would be Batman, a Ninja Turtle, or in my case Bill Murray.
You grow up and later realize, oh shit! I don’t want to be whatever I want to be, because to become Batman someone is going to have to kill my parents, I’m six and I just learned how to tie my shoes. That’s way too much responsibility.
I am just trying to do a little better.
The notion that all men are created equal has been so bastardized; I hold this truth to be self-evident. I will concede that all men are inherently created equal, but this does not mean everyone is going to be rich and want for nothing. Such a slim number of people will achieve this. These are the people who will someday stand behind a podium and say, “I never thought I’d be here but this award proves that dreams come true.” NO THEY CAN'T. The FCC should ban this stuff, sorry Kevin Garnett anything is not possible.
Telling people they can be anything they want is a dangerous lie, just like college or don’t mess with Texas. Telling the world they can be anything they want is in way just plain dumb. All men are created equal but some are created even more equal. I can’t be a 7 foot tall NBA All Star Center. Even if I had the ability to be 7 feet tall the odds of me reaching that level are so extreme it would make me delusional to even try. All men are created equal in spirit but not in potential. Not everyone can be whatever he or she wants. You may think you are what you wanted to be but that is the lie you tell yourself now to keep from getting depressed and having an existential crisis. Did you really want to be a market analyst or did you honestly think for the first few years of conscious thought that one day you would be Batman, a Ninja Turtle, or in my case Bill Murray.
You grow up and later realize, oh shit! I don’t want to be whatever I want to be, because to become Batman someone is going to have to kill my parents, I’m six and I just learned how to tie my shoes. That’s way too much responsibility.
I am just trying to do a little better.
You're only as Old as others think you are
I was able to catch up with an former neighbor of mine recently. He is an older gentlemen. I would once a week go next door and share a pint of beer with him and he would just talk.This is what he had to say about getting older.
"I love aging. I am at a point now in my life where shit, it doesn't matter any more. If I want to walk to the mail box in my underwear with a white fruit of the loom t-shirt tucked into it. I can do that. No one says a thing. You know why? Because I look like this and people just think 'oh look at the poor man slipping gradually into senility. The older you get the less people try and correct your behavior and you can say or do anything you want. I can prove it, go to any assisted living home in the country. Every person in their just says what ever they want and most of the time it's horribly racist. White black it doesn't matter. Go sit in the rec room for fifteen minutes and I bet you there will be an old white guy and an old black guy just trying to one up each other with racist comments just to make the staff uncomfortable assuming the the staff actually speaks anything else besides Armenian."
"I love aging. I am at a point now in my life where shit, it doesn't matter any more. If I want to walk to the mail box in my underwear with a white fruit of the loom t-shirt tucked into it. I can do that. No one says a thing. You know why? Because I look like this and people just think 'oh look at the poor man slipping gradually into senility. The older you get the less people try and correct your behavior and you can say or do anything you want. I can prove it, go to any assisted living home in the country. Every person in their just says what ever they want and most of the time it's horribly racist. White black it doesn't matter. Go sit in the rec room for fifteen minutes and I bet you there will be an old white guy and an old black guy just trying to one up each other with racist comments just to make the staff uncomfortable assuming the the staff actually speaks anything else besides Armenian."
I am really not that attractive
Tonight after a shitty open mic I had a very attractive 24-year-old girl approach me. I would use the word woman but she was not a woman at all. Anyone who finds me, as a viable option for a relationship type situation should never be considered a woman… I am not a viable option.
Seriously, I don’t know how anyone would look at me and think, hey this dude could be the father of my children. The reason for a morning after pill, maybe, but in no means the father of my children. I am poor decision at the very best. I like high gravity beers. That’s my thing. I am a living Adam Sandler movie. Not like a Grown Ups Adam Sandler where I have a family and my shit together, but if peeing my pants is cool consider me Miles Davis Billy Madison Adam Sandler movie.
I am a horrible human being. I don’t try to be, but that’s who I am. I used be a great guy but I have had those episodes in life that stopped me from caring to make someone else happy at my own expense. I just want to be me. I am an off and on pudgy son of a bitch with an inappropriate sense of humor that loves beers that most people have never heard of. I stay up too late writing stories and eating snacks that wives and girlfriends would yell at their man for.
I lack emotion; I guess I am old fashion like that. I welcome a WWIII and a draft just to make things right with the world. There are no more real men left. There are no more real men left because we are forced to have emotions. The only emotions that men should be allowed to have are road rage and drunk.
Seriously, I don’t know how anyone would look at me and think, hey this dude could be the father of my children. The reason for a morning after pill, maybe, but in no means the father of my children. I am poor decision at the very best. I like high gravity beers. That’s my thing. I am a living Adam Sandler movie. Not like a Grown Ups Adam Sandler where I have a family and my shit together, but if peeing my pants is cool consider me Miles Davis Billy Madison Adam Sandler movie.
I am a horrible human being. I don’t try to be, but that’s who I am. I used be a great guy but I have had those episodes in life that stopped me from caring to make someone else happy at my own expense. I just want to be me. I am an off and on pudgy son of a bitch with an inappropriate sense of humor that loves beers that most people have never heard of. I stay up too late writing stories and eating snacks that wives and girlfriends would yell at their man for.
I lack emotion; I guess I am old fashion like that. I welcome a WWIII and a draft just to make things right with the world. There are no more real men left. There are no more real men left because we are forced to have emotions. The only emotions that men should be allowed to have are road rage and drunk.
i may lack basic social skills
While standing in a long, just about midday line at the Food Lion self check out a girl of mild attractiveness began to strike up a conversation with me. A normal person would have been polite and feigned interest in what this girl had to say or even engaged in mindless small talk till this girl bought her carrots and hummus and went about the rest of her life. I, on the other hand, lacking any kind of impulse control did not have this reaction. Looking back on it now I think she may have been flirting with me, which makes the following conversation even better.
I was buying coffee, she was buying the aforementioned hummus and carrots.
Girl: Getting your afternoon caffeine fix?
Me: Yup, I run on caffeine and general disdain for humanity.
*she giggles slightly, I go back to being myself.
Girl: You look like you have a real rugged build.
Me: Thanks, you look like you have a real roomy interior.
*she gives me a look.
Me: Oh, I’m sorry. I thought we were giving compliments based on the description of a Chevy Silverado.
I take out my phone and begin to type.
Girl: What are you doing?
Me: Live tweeting this failed social interaction.
I was buying coffee, she was buying the aforementioned hummus and carrots.
Girl: Getting your afternoon caffeine fix?
Me: Yup, I run on caffeine and general disdain for humanity.
*she giggles slightly, I go back to being myself.
Girl: You look like you have a real rugged build.
Me: Thanks, you look like you have a real roomy interior.
*she gives me a look.
Me: Oh, I’m sorry. I thought we were giving compliments based on the description of a Chevy Silverado.
I take out my phone and begin to type.
Girl: What are you doing?
Me: Live tweeting this failed social interaction.
I will sell out at the drop of a hat
This is a unique opportunity for any investor who is looking for that new and edgy way to market themselves, their company, or anything for that matter. The Item you are bidding on is “My Daily Life”. From the point at which I place this item on EBay it will be documented from start to finish. Maybe even before it may depend on if this gets any press coverage or not.
For one year I will be your living, breathing walking billboard! I will do corporate appearances, pass out pamphlets, radio interviews, walk dogs, Date your daughter, bag groceries, endorse your candidate, Laugh at your jokes, use your products, patronize your store, tell you that shirt looks great and really brings out the color of your eyes, convince your family your are finally getting married (void in California, Vermont, Hawaii, and Massachusetts), talk you up to the special someone at the bar. I will do almost anything provided it’s not illegal, morally objectionable, cause me to become overly dirty or cause me bodily injury. But if I do get injured I wouldn’t worry too much because you will be providing me with excellent health benefits which includes dental, vision, and a 401k with matching funds up to 6.5%. Did I mention I have a dog; she comes along as part of this great package!
To also be included in this deal is pay for the camera man that will be documenting all the trouble that I get into on a daily basis which include: trips to the grocery store where I strike up awkward conversations with the employees, hanging out at the pub throwing a few back and telling bar stories that may or may not be true, me striking out on a regular basis with the ladies and of course you know I have road rage, hop in the car we’re going for a ride.
You’ll get to meet all my friends as well, which include: radio personalities, my roommate, general morons, weirdoes, freaks, hippies, and animals. Some of the things that I might be able to do with the money you’ll be paying me will be buying a new car from a dealership (something I have never done before) or maybe even purchasing my first home, pay off my students loans… Hell I might even be able to start my own business, who knows! The possibilities are seemingly endless.
I will conclude everyday by posting an entry on my internet dairy or blog … Did I forget to mention that there will be a website primarily sponsored by you as well? It will be up to you whether or not you want to sell advertising space on there to further bolster your own income or maybe even pay me with that income
The one thing to keep in mind though is this is a service. Just consider me a marketing consult on a 12 month contract… I don’t do windows. The purchase of this service via an internet auction website will be considered a preliminary contract between the contractor and the contracted.
For one year I will be your living, breathing walking billboard! I will do corporate appearances, pass out pamphlets, radio interviews, walk dogs, Date your daughter, bag groceries, endorse your candidate, Laugh at your jokes, use your products, patronize your store, tell you that shirt looks great and really brings out the color of your eyes, convince your family your are finally getting married (void in California, Vermont, Hawaii, and Massachusetts), talk you up to the special someone at the bar. I will do almost anything provided it’s not illegal, morally objectionable, cause me to become overly dirty or cause me bodily injury. But if I do get injured I wouldn’t worry too much because you will be providing me with excellent health benefits which includes dental, vision, and a 401k with matching funds up to 6.5%. Did I mention I have a dog; she comes along as part of this great package!
To also be included in this deal is pay for the camera man that will be documenting all the trouble that I get into on a daily basis which include: trips to the grocery store where I strike up awkward conversations with the employees, hanging out at the pub throwing a few back and telling bar stories that may or may not be true, me striking out on a regular basis with the ladies and of course you know I have road rage, hop in the car we’re going for a ride.
You’ll get to meet all my friends as well, which include: radio personalities, my roommate, general morons, weirdoes, freaks, hippies, and animals. Some of the things that I might be able to do with the money you’ll be paying me will be buying a new car from a dealership (something I have never done before) or maybe even purchasing my first home, pay off my students loans… Hell I might even be able to start my own business, who knows! The possibilities are seemingly endless.
I will conclude everyday by posting an entry on my internet dairy or blog … Did I forget to mention that there will be a website primarily sponsored by you as well? It will be up to you whether or not you want to sell advertising space on there to further bolster your own income or maybe even pay me with that income
The one thing to keep in mind though is this is a service. Just consider me a marketing consult on a 12 month contract… I don’t do windows. The purchase of this service via an internet auction website will be considered a preliminary contract between the contractor and the contracted.