I finally have some time to write, and finally have the physical ability to as well. Let's go back to last Saturday.
I volunteered to work two shifts at the Dairy Bar at the State Fair scooping ice cream that the food science department here on campus produces in the basement of Schaub. I went with two of my friends who are also budding food scientists and fought our way through the throngs of rednecks waiting in line for giant turkey legs, fried macaroni and cheese, and frozen cheesecake on a stick. Everything went as *smoothly* as is possible during fair time. We were surprised that with the cold we still had no down time between scooping orders of cookie dough, cherry vanilla, and butter almond. Then, as the new shift was coming in and we were able to take a little break, I was a little clumsy... I was trying to move some ice cream from the very bottom of a tub so that we could replace it with a fresh one. I lost my grip and sliced my finger on the metal rim of the ice cream bucket. Well, it was no slice... more like I lost a chunk of skin. It wouldn't stop bleeding for a good 15 minutes or so and was making me super woozy. Knowing me, I'm surprised I didn't pass out. Well, we put about three bandages on it, gloved up again, and scooped for another three hour shift. After helping close up, we were finally out at about quarter til midnight.
Woke up the next morning and took a shower. I was too afraid to take the bandaids off, so I waited until I was out of the shower. And it started gushing again. This time I did have to lie down on the couch so I wouldn't faint. I decided that I would get the mother's opinion, and of course with my mom, everything needs to be looked at by professionals. Kelly was kind enough to take me to the emergency room. I felt silly for going for a little cut, but knowing my travel plans, I figured it was better to go get it checked out rather than have it rage with infection and ruin my trip. The doctor was less than thrilled with my "laceration" but told me that since I hadn't come in the night before he wasn't going to give me stitches. I wanted a stitch! He said to just watch it for signs of infection: will do.
I had kept it wrapped up until last night. I took off the bandaid and it felt like there was no feeling all the way around the knuckle that was sliced off. So I decided to let it air out and let the blood level out today, but I still have limited feeling in that finger. I wonder if I hit a nerve or something... Good story for the grand kids I guess.
In other news, the second round of midterms are killing me. I have come down with a killer sinus infection, but luckily have antibiotics now to ease the pain. Every time I sniffled in, my face felt like it was going to explode. Now at least the pain has subsided a little.
In Costa Rican news, Margarita's newest entry made me cry in the middle of the library. I miss that life soooo much, too, it's absurd. The second that one of these silly food industry companies offers me a position, I'm buying that ticket for May and I swear I'm staying there for a good three weeks or so. Oh, Marco Vinicio is a debt collector. That's right. He's the one that calls you up and tells you that you're past due. What a laugh. He also thought that I cut off all of my fingers when I explained what happened and was almost yelling at me for being such a klutz. Tehe.
I finally have some things to look forward to: 6 days until I get a new car (crossing fingers); 29 days until I leave for Ecuador; and about 2 or 3 months until I can finally apply for the Peace Corps. I love countdowns. They give me hope. And I need a lot of that right now.
Peace.
Friday, October 24, 2008
Sunday, October 12, 2008
The View from Kenya
I just got back to my apartment after a nice 5-day break from school. I was able to make it back home and see my family and our lovely new kitchen. I didn't even feel like I was in my childhood home because of the drastic changes that had been made: beautiful new hard-wood floors, granite counters, a bar, dozens of new cabinets, two (!) ovens, and even a fancy-schmancy warming drawer. My mother's dream kitchen, I hope.
My ride home from the airport today is, however, what I would like to discuss. For some reason, chatty taxi drivers allow for the most superb of anecdotes. My driver was from Kenya, probably in his 30s. He had decorated his car with terrible pictures of his wife (eyes closed, double chin, just poorly-taken photographs: she was quite lovely) and other relics from his home country. He started with the typical questions: Where are you flying from? Is the weather cold up there? So you go to school at State? What do you study? etc. He was very interested in food science, although was confused as to how that tied into saving the world. I explained my version, and he quickly caught on, though stated that I could not save the world without seeing it. Of course, my answer was that I had been to 17 (I think) different countries and did in fact consider myself to be as un-narrow-minded of an American as you can get. This impressed him greatly. He said that I should get a head start on internships so as to get into the working industry quickly. I told him that I had just applied for three this past weekend. Again, he was impressed.
We then continued with politics, of course, and racism, of course, and ended on globalization. He said that he had moved here 15 years ago at a time where every country in the world wanted to be like the famous "America," and when the American Dream still rang true. Now, although people are still greatly influenced by our country's goings-on, nobody seems to like us. He said that he even had trouble with his own family because he is now living in a country that nobody from the global world seems to like anymore. I Wonder Whose fault that could be? (PS. that was a hint...)
I am glad that I was assigned taxi cab #042 today, because it gave me a little more perspective on life. I am having an extremely hard time trying to determine the first step in my career and unfortunately have so many good-looking options, my stress levels are through the roof. (But at least I will never be a chatty taxi driver.) I know that none of the options will ruin my life, but I worry, a lot, that I might miss out on an opportunity that proves to be "the one" for me. Do I want to improve a food industry company by making them more aware of the world hunger issue? Do I want to start up and/or work for a non-profit organization that is fighting the poverty epidemic? Do I want to take the governmental route and see what organizations such as the FAO and WFP are doing along the same lines? Or should I just get my PH.D. and develop my own way to save the world? All I know is that I want to continue traveling, continue to understand the global problems that I wish the eradicate, and then, hopefully (crossing my fingers, toes, and eyes) the perfect opportunity will present itself and I will lap it up with all my enthusiasm.
Peace.
My ride home from the airport today is, however, what I would like to discuss. For some reason, chatty taxi drivers allow for the most superb of anecdotes. My driver was from Kenya, probably in his 30s. He had decorated his car with terrible pictures of his wife (eyes closed, double chin, just poorly-taken photographs: she was quite lovely) and other relics from his home country. He started with the typical questions: Where are you flying from? Is the weather cold up there? So you go to school at State? What do you study? etc. He was very interested in food science, although was confused as to how that tied into saving the world. I explained my version, and he quickly caught on, though stated that I could not save the world without seeing it. Of course, my answer was that I had been to 17 (I think) different countries and did in fact consider myself to be as un-narrow-minded of an American as you can get. This impressed him greatly. He said that I should get a head start on internships so as to get into the working industry quickly. I told him that I had just applied for three this past weekend. Again, he was impressed.
We then continued with politics, of course, and racism, of course, and ended on globalization. He said that he had moved here 15 years ago at a time where every country in the world wanted to be like the famous "America," and when the American Dream still rang true. Now, although people are still greatly influenced by our country's goings-on, nobody seems to like us. He said that he even had trouble with his own family because he is now living in a country that nobody from the global world seems to like anymore. I Wonder Whose fault that could be? (PS. that was a hint...)
I am glad that I was assigned taxi cab #042 today, because it gave me a little more perspective on life. I am having an extremely hard time trying to determine the first step in my career and unfortunately have so many good-looking options, my stress levels are through the roof. (But at least I will never be a chatty taxi driver.) I know that none of the options will ruin my life, but I worry, a lot, that I might miss out on an opportunity that proves to be "the one" for me. Do I want to improve a food industry company by making them more aware of the world hunger issue? Do I want to start up and/or work for a non-profit organization that is fighting the poverty epidemic? Do I want to take the governmental route and see what organizations such as the FAO and WFP are doing along the same lines? Or should I just get my PH.D. and develop my own way to save the world? All I know is that I want to continue traveling, continue to understand the global problems that I wish the eradicate, and then, hopefully (crossing my fingers, toes, and eyes) the perfect opportunity will present itself and I will lap it up with all my enthusiasm.
Peace.
Tuesday, October 7, 2008
This little piggy went to market... and so did this one... and this one...
Today was our class field trip, for lack of better terms, to the Smithfield [Pork] Packing and Processing Plant in Clinton, NC.
Yippee?
I made it aware to my tour-guide, Shannon, that I had no intention of going to the kill room, and even the cut room might be a challenge for me. The first part wasn't so bad. Lots of cuts of pork, I'm used to seeing that, and it was pretty chilly so there wasn't any bad smell. Also, a lot of the employees were Hispanic and definitely hopped on the stereotypical bandwagon and stared at us (a group of all girls) as we walked by. Although, thinking back, they couldn't really see a whole lot of us because we were well equipped with boots, lab coats, helmets, hair nets/face nets, and earplugs. We sort of just blended in. Or so I thought.
We were led through mazes of machinery that was all manned by dozens of workers, cutting and sorting the meat. Like I said, the first part wasn't too bad. But then we entered the cut area. The head room was the first disturbing part of the day. Yes, that's right: The Head Room. And there's no A/C in this part of the factory, so I think you can imagine what it smells like. Actually, maybe you can't; it's pretty hard to describe the stench... Hundreds of heads being detached from pig's bodies were jammed onto spikes and then carefully destroyed by the line of people with super sharp knives. Ears in that pile, eyes over there, and don't forget about the snouts! We also saw the evisceration process and a machine designated to spit the hearts into a little vat of hot water. There were tubs of chitlins, livers, all that good "offal" stuff.
And then I stopped. I went and sat in the supervisors' office and had a nice chat with some of them, and even snuck a peak at the violations list. Some that were included were chewing gum, improper use of beard net, spitting on the ground, wearing music headphones instead of ear plugs, things of that nature. It was good to know, however, that one of the new supervisors had fainted on his first day when he went into the head room for the first time. It's good to know because now I don't feel like everyone is completely desensitized. It's pretty disturbing. I later heard stories about the kill floor: how they shave off the eyelids, rinse their dead mouths with Scope (I think the Scope part was made up), and the giant torches at every corner used to scorch off the hair. Yeah, glad I wasn't there.
It was a good experience, I guess. I'm glad someone is willing to do that work day after day. Although one of the guides said that a lot of times people show up to work for their first day and then never come back. I'm thinking that would be me...
In other news, I have no car. The entire brake system is shot, and it would cost a minimum of $2,000 to fix it. HAHA good one. I'll be getting a new car soon!
Peace.
Yippee?
I made it aware to my tour-guide, Shannon, that I had no intention of going to the kill room, and even the cut room might be a challenge for me. The first part wasn't so bad. Lots of cuts of pork, I'm used to seeing that, and it was pretty chilly so there wasn't any bad smell. Also, a lot of the employees were Hispanic and definitely hopped on the stereotypical bandwagon and stared at us (a group of all girls) as we walked by. Although, thinking back, they couldn't really see a whole lot of us because we were well equipped with boots, lab coats, helmets, hair nets/face nets, and earplugs. We sort of just blended in. Or so I thought.
We were led through mazes of machinery that was all manned by dozens of workers, cutting and sorting the meat. Like I said, the first part wasn't too bad. But then we entered the cut area. The head room was the first disturbing part of the day. Yes, that's right: The Head Room. And there's no A/C in this part of the factory, so I think you can imagine what it smells like. Actually, maybe you can't; it's pretty hard to describe the stench... Hundreds of heads being detached from pig's bodies were jammed onto spikes and then carefully destroyed by the line of people with super sharp knives. Ears in that pile, eyes over there, and don't forget about the snouts! We also saw the evisceration process and a machine designated to spit the hearts into a little vat of hot water. There were tubs of chitlins, livers, all that good "offal" stuff.
And then I stopped. I went and sat in the supervisors' office and had a nice chat with some of them, and even snuck a peak at the violations list. Some that were included were chewing gum, improper use of beard net, spitting on the ground, wearing music headphones instead of ear plugs, things of that nature. It was good to know, however, that one of the new supervisors had fainted on his first day when he went into the head room for the first time. It's good to know because now I don't feel like everyone is completely desensitized. It's pretty disturbing. I later heard stories about the kill floor: how they shave off the eyelids, rinse their dead mouths with Scope (I think the Scope part was made up), and the giant torches at every corner used to scorch off the hair. Yeah, glad I wasn't there.
It was a good experience, I guess. I'm glad someone is willing to do that work day after day. Although one of the guides said that a lot of times people show up to work for their first day and then never come back. I'm thinking that would be me...
In other news, I have no car. The entire brake system is shot, and it would cost a minimum of $2,000 to fix it. HAHA good one. I'll be getting a new car soon!
Peace.
Sunday, October 5, 2008
MOVE OUT OF THE WAY! NO BRAKES! NO BRAKES!
My car has no brakes. That's right. No Brakes. And of course I just drove over 900 miles (I redid the math...) through the mountains with brakes that were about to burst. My car is peeing brake fluid now. Wow. Makes you think about luck and destiny. I'm glad that I only had to drive about 15 minutes home when I found out and that there was only three or four stoplights on the way, all of which were green for me. It was disheartening when my foot was all the way on the floor and still my car was accelerating down the hill. Not a good feeling in my stomach. And tomorrow it will be towed and the car guys can look at it and shake there heads. According to Curt, I'm a bad driver. Haha. I could have told you that.
Well, I am going home in three days. Yay! And I get to see our new kitchen!!
Not much else to tell.
Peace.
Well, I am going home in three days. Yay! And I get to see our new kitchen!!
Not much else to tell.
Peace.
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