The Pie Man
Further to my previous post on this subject, next door to the Precision Engineering Works was a place that made the... stuff... that goes into Steak and Kidney Pies. Meat, allegedly; but it looked like lumpy brown paint, as I found out when I went round to borrow their oxy-acetylene torch kit.

I got to know one of the blokes who worked there; let’s call him Simon, for obvious reasons. He was a big chap with disturbingly large muscly arms, and an incongruously donnish, ascetic face, complete with round wire-framed specs. He had a shy affable manner and we would often lunch on the riverbank, where we would discuss his favourite subject, wrestling. I chummed up with him mainly because he looked like he could handle himself in a fight, unlike the lardoes I worked with, in case the Graff’s ‘Livithian Invincibles’ should come a-calling.

Simon often called round to ask for our help in fixing bits of their machinery. He’d wander in, apron smeared in brown goo and red stains which looked disturbingly like blood, bearing machine parts that needed welding or lubricating or something. We would gladly help out in exchange for pies.

One day by the riverbank Simon seemed quieter than usual. I asked him what was wrong. He sighed and said they’d had to sack Hector, one of their oldest employees, as he kept turning up to work drunk and could not be trusted with the machinery. Oh, I said, that’s sad, how did he take it? Simon replied that Hector had taken it very badly. He had not said a word, but simply walked up to the big vat containing the pie mixture, dropped his trousers and crapped into the slowly rotating slurry.

Oh dear, I said, what a waste of ‘food’! Simon shrugged and said, not really. They figured that the ratio of faeces to pie mix was enough for the latter to sufficiently dilute the former.

Next time Simon wanted a part fixed I politely turned down his offer of a nice hot Steak and Kidney Pie as payment.
(Dr Skagra glorious glargzhem, Sat 7 Sep 2013, 9:55, 1 reply)

Doesn't surprise me one bit.
When I hear about mice baked into loaves and so on, I think, I bet that's not the half of it. Everyone I know who works in food production tells me off-putting stories like that.

One of my favourites was about the operative who suddenly barfed onto the bakery production line. The foreman popped over, scraped the lumpier bits off the belt onto the floor and work went on, uninterrupted.
(Juan Quar is clinging to her front teeth on, Sun 8 Sep 2013, 20:39, closed)