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LIFE HAS BEEN different since Bill D-22. Parliament passed the bill three years ago to address inflation, unemployment, environmental contamination, prison overcrowding, overpopulation, and the housing crisis of the 2020s. Analysts and economists praised the bill as a social cure-all. Like most social policies, Bill D-22 received a divided reception. Every legislator’s office in the country was the site of protest, along with grocery stores, courthouses, jails, and meat-packing facilities; however, as black carrier vans became prevalent on the streets, protests dwindled. Although politicians enacted Bill D-22: The Ethical Procurement, Consumption and Production of Human Byproducts Act, the successful rollout of Bill D-22 required compliance on the part of common workers, like me.
No one dreams of cutting meat for the benefit of capitalists ruling over a major national grocery chain, but the work is steady, and after Bill D-22, I received full medical, dental, and mental health coverage, as well as a five percent raise that amounts to just over a dollar an hour—a frustratingly small gesture that slightly offsets the displeasure of working in boots soaked with plasma, turning my toes to raisins by five o’clock. More recently, my corporate masters proposed to me another, more exclusive, gesture: an all-expenses-paid three-day long training retreat to tour the processing facility in Alberta. It’s the kind of opportunity you either accept or face unofficial repercussions.
Invitees consisted of our retailer’s ‘best boots-on-the-ground workers,’ as my manager explained. Our group was made up of meatcutters, deli-workers, and product demonstration specialists–they’re the people who stand at the little table with a hot plate, offering free samples in paper condiment cups.
The enormous facility we arrived at is split into four plants: development, processing, dairy, and the tannery, which are labelled Building A, B, C, and D, respectively. Before we began our tour of Building A, our guide, a young man named Philippe, who spoke with a business-like eloquence that eluded any indication of a personality, handed us forms entitled, ‘Ice Breakers.’ One by one, participants awkwardly exchanged information like, ‘What’s your favourite food?’ and ‘How long have you been with the company?’ Once the forms were filled with uninspiring responses, Philippe collected them, and the tour commenced.
As we viewed the first building, Philippe explained that some ‘specimens,’ like those trucked in from correctional facilities and offsite livestock farms, are processed immediately. They skip intubation and go directly to the top floor of Building B. Other ‘administrative burdens,’ who he described as, ‘transients, unclaimed elderly facilitating social resource depletion, and federal rehabilitation-centre occupants,’ require extensive preparation. Philippe told us that, since the facility only produces Grade AAA samples, specimens belonging to these groups are first sent to Building A, where they are intubated, flushed of toxins, and receive a non-GMO, plant-based diet through their feeding tubes, until quality assurance inspectors determine the product is ‘ripe’ for processing.
After several years of extracting meat from cadavers, I didn’t anticipate that observing shelving units packed tight with comatose samples receiving tubular sustenance in Building A would feel so disturbing. Nor did my experiences prepare me for the horrors of Building B. Despite Philippe’s oration over the incessant noise of ringing bandsaws, rolling conveyors, purring motors, and the humdrum of automated vacuum-sealing wrappers, we still detected faint screams from the kill floor above us, which introduced a wobble to my knees. Each time the overhead disposal chute periodically opened, depositing another load onto the cushioned receiving platform, the faint cries became a macabre symphony of harrowing death calls and squelching sounds. Sensing our dismay, Philippe intervened, ‘What you’re hearing is simply an unconscious auditory reaction. All specimens are ethically subdued via captive-bolt prior to exsanguination. The process is painless!’ Meanwhile, the receivers were cleaving the twitching samples into sections and hoisting them onto revolving meat hooks.
Philippe hurried us away to the blood-filling station, which consisted of a huge vat fed by drainage pipes descending from the ceiling, and it was suspended above a conveyor carrying five-gallon buckets. Each bucket was filled once situated beneath the sensor-controlled spigot at the vat’s base. Later, the bucket’s contents will be blended with oatmeal, a block of Pinguedo hominis[1], and seasoning. The resulting gruel is hand-loaded into the Hobart meat-stuffer at your local grocery store, where a steel-toed boot on an electric foot pedal determines the length of each human intestine-cased organic Canadian blood pudding link. Believe me, I know.
Finally, we viewed the facility’s most coveted attraction: Building C, the dairy processing plant. Philippe proudly informed us that, ‘Building C is the country’s single greatest environmental investment! The site supplies dairy products for all major national retailers and has replaced every major cattle-based dairy farm in the country, drastically reducing greenhouse gas emissions. Furthermore, it’s the largest processing facility in North America; larger than many towns, and four times the size of the West Edmonton Mall!’
After pausing for our impressed reaction, Philippe continued, ‘The facility retains full-time rotational employees at a ratio of one for every three intubated gravid specimens, and one per five intubated post-natal hormone-supplied specimens, thus ensuring perfectly calibrated quality control.’ He also informed us the site employs, ‘insemination technicians; cleaners; yogurt processing specialists; fromagiers[2]; oxytocin and prolactin conveyance operators; and neonatal handling officers, who are responsible for delivery and transport of neonates to the top-floor of Building B, where they are received by our cervical dislocation team.’ Then, Philippe explained to us, as though we didn’t already know, that neonate meat, or ‘chair de nourrisson[3],’ is an internationally sought-after delicacy enjoyed by aristocrats, magnates, and other prestigious culinary connoisseurs.
As of my visit, Building C had over ninety-thousand full-time workers. Fortunately, our tour of Building C was very limited. Although some of us were disappointed about skipping the insemination chambers, I was content with our three-hour walk through the automated-milking repository, which resembled Building A, but with more shelving units, and tubes.
We had no cause to visit Building D, but, on our final day, Phillipe informed us that, starting next year, Building D will produce all leather products featured in General Motors vehicles. Everyone gave a perfunctory clap at the news. After concluding the tour, we celebrated with a graduation feast at the on-site buffet restaurant, on the ground floor of the on-site hotel where we stayed. The extensive buffet showcased the results of the labours we witnessed.
Normally, the savoury smells wafting from the buffet would engage my senses with enthusiasm. Yet, I now hesitated to taste the crispy-fried fingers, homo-Wellington, and my favourite, cheesy Mexican tamales, made traditional-style, with corn husks and face meat. Philippe noticed my inhibition, and intervened by thrusting a porcelain platter, piled with tamales, into my abdomen. ‘Eat,’ he said, ‘they’re prepared just for you.’ As he said this, he lifted my Ice Breaker sheet and gently waved it, smiling with warmth as his cold eyes fixed on me, or maybe my meaty shoulders. Next, Philippe placed his hand on the small of my back and led me to a table filled with coworkers who were busy swiping gravy from their beards and dipping biscuits in colostrum. As I sat, he hovered over me, watching my performance with delight, as I dutifully squeezed the steamy paste from each tamale into my mouth. With a wry smile of satisfaction at the sight of my indulgence, Philippe moved on, and I succumbed to the urge for a second helping.
[1] Latin. Translation: ‘human fat.’
[2] French. Translation: ‘cheese maker.’
[3] French. Translation: ‘flesh of infant.’
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