Undercover

A friend of mine, let's call him Alonzo, told me about an opportunity to make $40 doing clerical work for a company right outside of town. "Seven thirty to nine or nine thirty, do you know where Teerzjik trucking is?" I said why not and, also, yeah, I've passed by it before. Alonzo, I also said, keep your phone on so I can find you.

Here I am, in the building with the Teerzjik truck in front, next to the Sup Ream factory. It smells like damp and industrial cleaning supplies. Through the front door are two stairways - one going down, with a sign that says "WORKERS ONLY" and one going up with a sign that asks you to please use the handrails for your safety (the one going up led to the office, where I am typing this right now - both stairs were wet and slippery, why slippery?). There are posters with photographs of hog carcass as they are going through the line, indicating the levels of lung damage that the factory employees can impose on the inner organs. There are piglets playing in hay and American flags on the wall paper trim. In this lady's desk in which I am typing this, there are pictures of her daughters. They are adorable. A lady came in without a word to mop the floor in here.

I don't know what I should do. A part of me wants to hide in one of these closets until everybody goes home, call Bearemy to bring me the camera (and a barf bucket), call Skip to bring video cameras - Alonzo turned off his phone - and explore. Something just creaked. Shit, that was scary.
These office workers left all of their things as if they had just stepped out for a cigarette - this lady's calculator is on, her travel mug full and various papers are still out. The gentleman next door left all his electronics on as well.

Document: Head Counts by Hog Type
4/1/08

Beelor - 155 31,806
Boars - 433 82,728
Niman - 1,191 237,551
REG/Other - 1,462 253,783

Grand Total - 3,321 620,829

Whoa.

Shit. The phone is ringing. Ah!
I'm getting out of here!

(to be continued...?)