Imagine being stuck in that shit on like year 3 after the high of hipster pubs, boutique bowling alleys with $9 fries, and "being in the middle of it all" wears off. Imagine walking past all that shit to go to the gas station and pick up a 12 pack because you know just how unfulfilling those $12 cocktails are while watching bouncey 22 year olds wait in a 90 minute line for hash potatoes and just being done with it all but you can't leave because the burbs are somehow worse, rural has no jobs, and no other country will take you. Living in a prison of your own gentrifying sins.
In urban SoCal we have industrial citrus sorting and industrial bakeries.
I worked at the former. Imagine massive crates of citrus being opened and having to sort through the oranges in 20F wearing stuff that won't keep you warm (because its SoCal you dont own warm clothes for 20F cold and they pay you so little you wouldn't be able to afford it anyways). Out of every 10 oranges, 4 of them are rotten or moldy, so you throw the rotten oranges on the ground until the rotten oranges reach to your mid-thigh. You do the same menial task for 8-10 hours a day tired af, with only 2 breaks (1 15 minutes the other 30 minutes).
On the flipside you have the industrial bakeries, which I didn't work at but was described as an endless furnace where everything will burn you.
Mind you there was an even colder storage next to us where they would keep other fruit not yet ready for transport, and all the people who worked there had their faces wrapped in scarves to keep their faces from being frostbitten.
The other thing I remember is every once in a while we would get a dead tarantula in the boxes of oranges whenever we had shipments from South America
Imagine being stuck in that shit on like year 3 after the high of hipster pubs, boutique bowling alleys with $9 fries, and "being in the middle of it all" wears off. Imagine walking past all that shit to go to the gas station and pick up a 12 pack because you know just how unfulfilling those $12 cocktails are while watching bouncey 22 year olds wait in a 90 minute line for hash potatoes and just being done with it all but you can't leave because the burbs are somehow worse, rural has no jobs, and no other country will take you. Living in a prison of your own gentrifying sins.
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there's a place near where I live that you just described exactly
Are they bouncey though?
This is scarily accurate.
Iowa has one of the lowest unemployment rates. Rural does have jobs
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Underemployment is still about half as bad as unemployment. There's lots of jobs if you want to have your soul rung out at some retail joint
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In urban SoCal we have industrial citrus sorting and industrial bakeries.
I worked at the former. Imagine massive crates of citrus being opened and having to sort through the oranges in 20F wearing stuff that won't keep you warm (because its SoCal you dont own warm clothes for 20F cold and they pay you so little you wouldn't be able to afford it anyways). Out of every 10 oranges, 4 of them are rotten or moldy, so you throw the rotten oranges on the ground until the rotten oranges reach to your mid-thigh. You do the same menial task for 8-10 hours a day tired af, with only 2 breaks (1 15 minutes the other 30 minutes).
On the flipside you have the industrial bakeries, which I didn't work at but was described as an endless furnace where everything will burn you.
I bought so many nice wool sweaters at thrift stores in socal. Apparantly people move there and just ditch their warm clothing.
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Mind you there was an even colder storage next to us where they would keep other fruit not yet ready for transport, and all the people who worked there had their faces wrapped in scarves to keep their faces from being frostbitten.
The other thing I remember is every once in a while we would get a dead tarantula in the boxes of oranges whenever we had shipments from South America
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It doesn't stay there for very long, if you've ever eaten a Cutie orange its come from the facility Im talking about.
The ones in the colder freezer would come in unripened and sprayed with ethylene gas to ripen them from what I was told.
I live in Iowa.
You don't want to be here.
And you may say to yourself: this is not my house! This is not my large automobile!
same as it ever was
Same as it ever was.