Sorting smashed up pallets and stock was my job at a well-known supermarket chain for three years.
It was officially titled 'waste and markdowns', and consisted of wiping down what could be recovered and skipping the rest. Admittedly these pallets and trays of goods weren't festering in the depot for years, only for a few weeks at the most. Just enough time for the maggots to get old enough to lay their own eggs.
My own low point, shortly after which I walked out, was when area security came in to do a surprise spot check, found some discrepancies on the waste sheets, and insisted that I climb into the skip to retrieve the supposedly dodgy waste bags. All of which had split open, mingling with the buckets of waste fat from the oven counters. Four hours later, and having thrown up in the yard, I'd re-entered all of the rancid goods from the bags into the system (manually, as none of the barcodes were the slightest bit readable). Of course, no error arose - it turned out to be a clerical error in the office which had caused the imbalance of figures. I had to throw away my trousers and shoes after that day, they were beyond cleaning. Fuck retail jobs, I'm never looking back.
( drimble he'd been white, he'd been black, Fri 8 Jul 2011, 22:33, Reply)