A warning.
As a student I occasionally resided in the familial box located upon the Lincolnshire flats; back in the days before the Polish willingly took the jobs the locals grudgingly forsook welfare in favour of, and students greedily devoured during their regular, lengthy breaks from taking drugs and drinking studying.

Whilst there, one company who swapped a measly wage in return for hard labour was in the business of the food business, and they were generous enough to thrust some work toward this diminutive slap-head, sometimes known as Gunther.

Rousing my still inebriated brain from its pillowy comfort before the sun had done the same, I trudged angrily to the rendezvous and clambered into the nicotine stained minibus that impatiently spat clouds of used diesel into the crisp morning air.

My new friends and I were whisked away to the deepest, darkest plains of Lincolnshire and ejaculated at the door of a food processing monolith, where my hangover jerked back to life as the overwhelming stench taunted my nasal cavity.

We filed brainlessly past the hand steriliser and allowed ourselves to be clad in clean shiny overalls, before wandering into what felt like the bowels of an alien space ship.

Having suitably adjusted my head cover I eyed up the monsters at the controls, and realised immediately why the minibus had to make its collections before sunrise: the majority of these people would have melted should the sun so much have caressed their scaled skin.

The hirsute hand of teenwolf's gran clasped my reluctant fingers and lead me to one of the thundering machines, where she grunted first at a copious vat of coleslaw, then at the large plastic spoon with which I was to stir it.

This was to be my station for the following 10 hours, save a brief lunch gap and the few sneaky cigarette breaks that I was able to take, and I began observing one of the most horrific scenes that has ever been accepted by my eyes, regardless of how recalcitrant they were about doing so.

I’m reluctant to list the horrors I witnessed. Suffice to say I’ve not eaten pre-packed coleslaw or its mayonnaisey brethren ever since, and I feel it would be unfair to inflict the sickening details onto you, my dear b3tans.

This was indiscriminate, unprovoked and depraved sabotage at its most extreme and my one consolation was that I lasted only a single day, and did so without succumbing to the widely accepted abuse of cheap salad based produce that was merrily practised by my alien co-workers.

If you are to take only one thing from this lengthy stream of gibberish, it should be this: do not, by any means consider the consumption of this vile jism; it is unfit for human taste, containing as it does all manner of human waste.
( Moey, Sun 21 Sep 2008, 20:55, 3 replies)

share
or fear an anti-click ;)
(El, Sun 21 Sep 2008, 23:41, closed)

Please
Tell us the acts of sabotage! I have long believed coleslaw to be vile stuff, I would love to have justification to look smugly at fools eating it!
(Neddy Nedson is nice really, Tue 23 Sep 2008, 0:16, closed)

Ok...
Much of it related to the general disregard of personal hygiene demonstrated by those who worked there, with an unnecessarily touchy-feely attitude to the produce guaranteeing the transfer of all manner of germs, etc...

Nose picking was rife and 'roly, flicky' was the chosen solution for dealing with the contents. Flicky was generally aimed towards the mix.

I saw one fella drawing in a large 'a a a a a aaaaa' before unleashing an almighty 'choooooo' directly into the about-to-be-packed food. He smiled happily to himself, wiped his nose on his sleeve and carried on stirring.

I did voice some concerns at the time, but they fell on deaf ears and I was told not to rock the boat. Instead I decided to disembark entirely.
( Moey, Tue 23 Sep 2008, 13:02, closed)