27 December 2011

Tasty Slavery

I can't tell how big the warehouse is, because the only light is directly over my workstation. I know it has to be huge, though, because of the echoing sounds of boot heels on the concrete floor as my supervisors walk by to check on me periodically. 

My workstation is a long, smooth rectangular table, and I sit at one of the long sides. Off to my right, the table ends at the edge of a conveyor belt which slowly moves through an open oven. I'm surrounded on all sides by massive plastic tubs filled with fruitcake mix - mostly candied fruits and nuts with only a bit of flour and seasonings. It's my job to take handfuls of the fruitcake mix and pack it tightly into tins to be baked.

None of the tins are alike. There are round ones of all different sizes, ring shapes, and rectangles. I pack the tins until they are filled to the top with the mix, and then slide them to the right. They catch on the conveyor belt and travel through the oven to bake. I can't figure out how they can possibly all bake evenly, since none of them are the same size, but they do.

I work for hours. It's very repetitve, and every time I think I am almost done, someone walks through the darkness and leaves me more tubs of mix and more tins to fill.