Tough Day for the Army

by John Warner

  Partial Transcript of Conversation between This Researcher and One of the Female Protestors Held through a Closed Car Window as This Researcher Waited for the Security Gate to Open

  PROTESTOR: I see you! You’re being judged! I am judging you!

  RESEARCHER: Please, I’m just trying to… can you move back?

  PROTESTOR: How many today? How many dead today? How many killed?

  RESEARCHER: Please, I just want to get through.

  PROTESTOR: I know your name. I know where you live. You have children!

  RESEARCHER: Is that a threat?

  PROTESTOR: It is what it is.

  Results cont.

  The leading indicator of a potential return-to-sensibility problem was “soft-sounding” shots, which may be an indicator of an underpowered stunner. Further investigation revealed that cartridges for the stunner were stored in a damp supply room near the slaughter floor, thus causing a certain percentage of shots that fall below the effective bolt speed of 65m/s.

  Percentage of Surfaces inside Commercial Beef Slaughter Plant #5867 That Could Be Characterized as “Damp”

  100.

  Results cont.

  Other prevalent causes for the failure to render animals insensible with a single stunner shot included: bent firing pins, stunner damage (case #4557), improper stunner maintenance, dirty stunner trigger, and inexperienced operation (case #4557).

  A Question Concerning His Project at Commercial Beef Slaughter Plant #5867 Asked by His Daughter That This Researcher Was Unable to Answer

  Do cows have names that they call each other in cow language?

  Impressions of the Overall Hygiene/Grooming Practices of the Most “Aggressive” (Female) Protestor

  Braless for sure. Each morning as she rushed the car, waving her sign and yelling, her breasts banged into each other beneath her loose peasant blouse. Once, as she pounded a fist on the hood of this researcher’s car, this researcher caught a glimpse of a thick thatch of hair at her pit. She was plain and beautiful. Pure. Her scent is unknown. The plant really obliterated everything around. Has the researcher spoken of that already?

  What the Nose Movements of This Researcher’s Wife Would Say When This Researcher Returns Home from the Plant If Those Nose Movements Were Translated into Verbal Communication

  That’s strange. What is that? Do you smell something? Yes? Is that a good smell or a horrible smell? Horrible, definitely horrible. Is that really coming from my husband? It is!

  Results cont.

  Further investigation suggested that the stunner was probably damaged when the cocking mechanism struck the side of the stunning box, as can happen when the rod sticks in the animal’s head and the stunner is jerked out of the operator’s hand. Careful maintenance of the rubber bumpers that retract the rod can help prevent the rod from sticking in the head.

  Abnormal, overly thick skulls can also be blamed for return-to-sensibility problems in a small handful of cases, most notably case #4557.

  One of the Things That the Researcher No Longer Takes Pleasure in Following His Experiences at Commercial Beef Slaughter Plant #5867

  You were thinking meat, but no, believe it or not, it’s television. Like a lot of Americans, this researcher used to find television soothing, particularly at the end of the day, once the kids were down and it was just the researcher and his wife on the couch, watching some show where nothing important would happen, but it was a real pleasure to watch those unimportant things happening. Lately, these people on the screen make him angry and he fidgets and makes sighing noises that annoy his wife.

  Interview Summary of Roy L. Clampsin, Line Foreman

  Mr. Clampsin recently began his twenty-third year at Plant #5867, and has spent the past seven years as foreman of the stunning/bleeding operation. Mr. Clampsin believes that in his time at Plant #5867 he has “seen it all” and that this researcher was about the “millionth” of “his kind” to “come sniffing around.”

  When questioned about the possibility of storing the replacement stunner cartridges in the relatively dry front office, Mr. Clampsin asked the researcher if he was a “company man” or a “narc.” When informed that this researcher is employed by the company, Mr. Clamp-sin responded that no one he was acquainted with was going to “traipse over to the next county past hell and gone and take a hit on the production quota just so every last one of next week’s hamburgers has its brains scrambled right.”

  A Word This Researcher Has Been Thinking About a Lot Lately

  Cleave. Once the cattle are stunned and hung on the bleed rail they are cleaved apart, by hand, because there is no machine that can do it with the speed and precision necessary, given the inherent variation among cattle. Robots can build cars, but they can’t render meat. The thing about cleave, though, is that the word means two opposite things at once. It means to split apart, but also it means “to cling to.” How can two things be the same thing, but also their opposites?

  Apparent Sharpness of the Knife Used by Roy Clampsin to Remedy Case #4557 of Improper Stunning Prior to Hanging on the Bleed Rail

  You just wouldn’t believe.

  Where Foreman Clampsin Acquired the Nonstandard, Policy- Violating Knife Used to Remedy Case #4557 of Improper Stunning Prior to Hanging on the Bleed Rail

  “Nam.”

  What “Stunned” Meant in a Different Context at One Time

  A time, before this researcher was married, when he and his future wife lived in the apartment without much furniture, the one with the large, southeast-facing sliding glass doors that allowed the sun to flood inside and warm the worn wood floors so in the mornings she would stand barefoot, looking out, sipping a cup of tea, and this researcher was behind her looking at her body bared through her nightclothes by the sun and he held his breath so it would not catch in his throat and make a noise that would disturb the picture in front of him.

  Partial Interview Transcript of Terry Lobegel, Stunner Operator during Case #4557

  Q: How long had you been operating the stunner, and where had you worked previously within the plant?

  A: I spent most of the time at the sluicer end, and that is a place you do not want to spend much time. It takes one of two things to get to the stunner floor: seniority, or a union leadership position, of which I had neither. Fortunately, there is a third way, and that way is having dirty pictures of the plant manager having sex with a woman who is not his wife which I had several copies of, as well as the negatives. I also have a computer, scanner, and the plant manager’s e-mail address. My wife knows how to work all that stuff. You do the math.

  Q: In your own words, please recount the incident involving Case #4557.

  A: Here’s the deal. Running the stunner wasn’t as straightforward as raking entrails down the sluicer bins, but it seemed simple enough: cow comes in, head gets clamped, aim the bolt, and fire away. Simple as pie, seemingly. Turns out it’s more art than science.

  Q: Can you amplify what you mean by “more art than science?”

  A: Amplify? Say it louder? Is the tape not working? Check! Check! One two! How’s that?

  Q: (Unintelligible)

  A: Anyway, these cows are like snowflakes. Looking at a whole field of them you’d be hard-pressed to notice any individual number, but it turns out that no two are quite exactly alike, so while the diagrams on where to aim the stunner and the training video and the guidelines on how much pressure to apply are all well and good, it isn’t that simple. Every one has a soft spot, and a millimeter can really make a difference, and the experienced guys just know how to do it. Clampsin warned me it wasn’t as easy as it looked, but I was desperate to get out of that sluicer. Sluicer ain’t fit for your worst enemy. My mama always said I’m my own worst enemy, though, so maybe me being back there makes a lot of sense.

  Conversation between Researcher and His Wife in Bed the Night after the Incident Involving Case #4557

  WIFE: Are you cold?

  RESEARCHER: No.

  wife: Why are y
ou shaking?

  RESEARCHER: (No response)

  wife: Are you OK?

  RESEARCHER: (No response)

  wife: Are you crying?

  Why the Blood Can Arc So High and Far Following the Knife’s Slash (Partial Transcript of Foreman Roy Clampsin Interview, unedited)

  Come here, let me show you something. I said, come here! If you’re going to get sick, just get sick; it’ll all wash down into the same place. Happens all the time. Bend over. Hold your knees, breathe deep. That’s it. Now, come here. Look at that. Big as a basketball, practically. That’s that big bastard’s heart. And the blood. The blood was coming out of a high-pressure artery, and when you think about it, he’d just survived a murder attempt, so you can bet that that fucker was pumping big-time. You ever been to the drag races and seen an oil line blow when one of them dragsters is coming off the line? It’s kind of like that. Shit’s amazing, isn’t it? Could you imagine such a thing?

  Legible Portion of Note Left beneath Researcher’s Windshield Wiper, Presumably by Female Protestor a Couple Days after Confronting the Researcher on His Way inside the Plant

  … about the kids is because I wanted you to think about the world we’re going to leave behind, not because I’d do anything to hurt anyone. I do this because I don’t want anyone getting hurt. You think I look like a fool, but whose [sic] the foolish one?

  Interview Summary of Foreman Roy Clampsin cont.

  In my experience, people like to kick up a lot of fuss, and the ones who kick up the most fuss, in general, don’t know shit about shit. That whole fucking war they sent me to was fuss after fuss, and not a god-damned soul knew fuck-all about it, but everyone had an opinion anyway, and for the most part, same is true here. People just do not want to know about this shit, perfect case in point being you. You wouldn’t be here if those hippies hadn’t gotten their hemp undies in a bunch, that look on your face makes that plain as day. Not that I blame anyone. Apparently, people more important than me have declared that this is “necessary,” so here I am, which is kind of the story of my life.

  My daddy always said that “Choices have consequences and bad choices have bad consequences.” First time he said it was after I spent my Christmas money on some plastic piece-of-shit toy that Daddy had warned me would fall apart before I got home and did indeed break when I dropped it on the ground exiting the car. The last time was after I’d wrapped my car around an oak, which I’d done because I’d lost the girl I loved and drank too much over the sorrow, and that’s what got me kicked out of college once and for all, which is how the army got their hands on me. When I left for basic, I said good-bye to Daddy, who was sitting at the kitchen table reading the paper, and he said, without looking up, “It’s been nice knowing you,” which I choose to think meant he was worried about what was going to happen to me over there, rather than something else.

  So what I’m saying is that I’ve learned how to live with the consequences of my choices, but what this place is about is the consequences of other people’s choices, which is the messed-up part. Those hippies are a pain in the ass and I don’t like having to wash off the cow shit they throw at my car every morning, and I’m not trying to argue that there’s an equivalence between what went on during that war, or any other war and what’s going on here, but you’ve got to admit, they have a point.

  Discussion

  After firsthand observation of 16 operating days it has been determined that Plant #5867 operates within acceptable tolerances and practices for the safe and humane processing of commercial beef cattle.

  The Five Nicest Things the Researcher’s Wife Ever Said to Him in Chronological, Rather Than Rank, Order

  Ewww, I never slept with Barry!

  I love you too.

  I do.

  I think your shirt’s on backwards.

  You don’t have to go back if you don’t want to. We’ll be fine.

  Discussion cont.

  This is not to say that practices and procedures could not be improved, because the ways (if not the means) Plant #5867 could be improved are almost too numerous to list, and yet this researcher finds himself at a loss as to where to begin. This researcher’s experiences at Commercial Beef Slaughter Plant #5867 have reinforced the notion that when it comes to judging things, it’s the standard by which we’re judging that matters most. This researcher has been to his share of grade school music recitals, and no one would mistake what goes on there for true artistry, and yet the “music” can and does bring the audience to tears. We call the gap between perfection and acceptability the “tolerance.” That’s another interesting word, isn’t it? How tolerant are we, really? Are we tolerant of the right things?

  Last Words from the Female Protestor to this Researcher Following His Final Day of On-Site Investigation at Commercial Beef Slaughter Plant #5867

  “Take care.”

  Discussion (cont.)

  The thing is, if we’re going to do this, there’s only so much you can do. What I’m saying is that it is what it is.

  Conclusions and Clinical Relevance

  Care should be taken to ensure proper stunner maintenance. Stunners should be used correctly, particularly when stunning cows and bulls with heavy skulls.

  Monkey and Man

  So I was sitting on the couch, scratching behind the dog’s second-favorite ear and humming a song of woe over Constance leaving us, when the doorbell rang. Through the cracked door I saw a vaguely familiar monkey dressed in tuxedo shirt, bow tie, and cummerbund, but no pants. He clutched a circular hatbox.

  “Sorry, no monkeys needed here,” I said.

  But the monkey jammed the hatbox in the closing door, and a hairy paw extended through the opening. The paw held a convincing replica of my wallet, so convincing that it and my wallet appeared to be one and the same.

  He said, “You need this; we’re going for a ride. Giuseppe is dead.”

  Giuseppe, the organ-grinder, dead, and this, his monkey.

  He stepped inside, opened the hatbox, and changed into an outfit of cutoff shorts held up by rainbow suspenders before folding the tuxedo top neatly back into the box. His chest was sunken and only spotted with fur. He was an old monkey.

  “Where did you get this?” I said, searching through the wallet, cataloguing the contents. The dog circled, showed just a hint of teeth.

  The monkey sighed. “Have you noticed that when you’re arguing with your now ex-girlfriend, you are often distracted by the hot flush of her cheeks? Of course I know you are, because you never felt the light touch of my deft monkey paw.”

  “All the money is gone.” It was.

  “I hardly think that seven dollars is something to quibble over when one has been reunited with his wallet.” He snapped the hatbox’s latch closed and flipped on the television. Over the news anchor’s shoulder was a file picture of Giuseppe in his fez and fringed jacket, squeezing his accordion. In the picture, the monkey perched on his shoulder, grinning and clapping.

  The monkey looked at the TV. “Did you know,” he said, “that when an animal shows its teeth, that’s a sign of aggression? For some reason you people take it as smiling.”

  The dog worked into a growl. The monkey shushed him, flashing the back of his paw. He removed a small steno-style notebook and pencil from the hatbox, licked the pencil tip, and jotted a few things down. As the news bulletin ended, the monkey underlined the last bit of his entry and snapped the notebook shut before turning to face me.

  “I want to prepare you for a couple of things,” he said, a replica of concern crossing his simian face. “Thing the first is that it’s possible, nay, probable, check that, definite, that Constance has already moved on from the relationship.”

  “And the second?”

  “The second is that you may be a suspect in Giuseppe’s death, given that your thumbprint is on his throat and he did indeed die of strangulation.”

  I started to speak, but the monkey placed his long, bony finger across my lips.

  “
She is a beauty, for sure, but she is not right for you.” He took his finger from my lips and poked the roll of flab at my waist. “Look at this,” he said. “Should she be subjected to that? And this,” he said, turning me to face the hall mirror. “Seriously, it’s important that you stick to your own kind, your own level.”

  “I didn’t kill Giuseppe,” I said.

  “That’s good,” he said. “Go with that. Very convincing. Now, let’s go clear your name.”

  “Why do you care?”

  “I am but a simple monkey who exists to serve my humankind brethren as I have done for all my days, but also, from your wallet, I noticed that you are a midlevel supervisor at a shipping company, which will come in handy when it’s time for you to express your gratitude for not going to jail for the rest of your life. Now, let’s get going, because any second the cops are going to show up and ask questions you can’t answer, which is going to make you look really suspicious, and if you’re locked up, you’re never going to be able to prove yourself innocent.”