I am right now writing an article for the paper on the new meat locker/processing plant/butcher shop/house of torture in town.
I knew this would happen ever since the building was first being planned. I live here. It's only natural they would ask me to write about it.
I waited for my boss to ask. I didn't offer it up.
I stressed about it a little for a week before the interview came up. I felt sad and torn and disgusted. What would I see? What would I have to hear about? Could I handle it? I almost turned it down and said no.
It wasn't too terrible. We sat in the front room so I didn't have to see anyone carve up a carcass. There was some blood on the owner's apron, but that's all. I didn't tell her I was vegan. I didn't say anything. I asked about the animals - turns out they are alive when they come and they "take care of everything from start to finish." Except, of course, when deer hunters bring in their already-dead deer.
It was hard, though. And the place smelled like death. If I would have heard a live animal in the back, I would have walked away.
I just don't get it. How people can look at the animal, living, breathing, scared, and then butcher it. How the pile of guts and blood and bones and tissues can be okay if it's a farm animal, but would be gross or wrong if it was your dog or cat. How these people can look at the meat and think that it looks tasty or delicious.
To me, it's absolutely no different than looking at roadkill and thinking it looks tasty.
Anyway, I survived. And now I am writing the article. Then I will be done with it all.
I wish I could write an article on a tofu factory. Or the new vegan restaurant in town. Ha!