‘Violence and abuse rife in food factories’
As nectarines trundle along conveyer belts above puddles of urine, whilst
miserable arms protrude from sodden pants squeezing and tweaking their
skins for ripeness, the notion of wash-before-you-eat finally holds court.
I always imagined factories to be a clinical ordered environment, but to
read about staff being disallowed toilet breaks and having produce hurled
at them worries me. Not necessarily worried for the staff, as in my mind
if I desperately needed a wee I would simply go to the loo and face
the consequences. What concerns me is this fruit we all so merrily
purchase from our impersonal but convenient supermarkets.
Since reading of the abuse that is rife in our factories, I am now of the
belief that much of the fruit I eat, if it hasn’t been lobbed at Terry, the
three year reigning forklift driver, then it has been fondled by many
piss drenched hands. And frankly, since I have been old enough to
pluck fruit from its bowl and not been gifted it by a more disciplined
soul, I ain’t washed a single plum, apple or peach and seemingly
have been detoxing myself with others’ widdle.
This all goes some length to explain the greying area that is spreading
across my back. An area I refer to it as my mushroom patch and in doing
so I am not strictly incorrect as it is of a fungal descent. Although unable to
harvest my patch as the produce could barely feed a rat I have grown
accustomed to its rough texture and like Velcro it serves as a good
sponge holder whilst showering.
In short I am no longer smarting but would like to point the finger and in
pointing my finger search out the true culprit, not just randomly poke any
bugger in the eye. Whether it be Martha’s tiddle or Harry’s poo one
needs to know the source.
In the meantime, when paying for my fruit, I intend to
tip the supermarket in the hope that the extra funds will wing their way to
the factories and permit those dirty hands the freedom to secrete in a more
fitting environment and maybe even indulge in some imperial leather.
Headlines are reactions, thoughts and warblings
on curious newspaper headlines.
