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a tomato-slicing employee dumped

eighty-eight point eight pounds, forty kilos, of tomatoes into a large container

and filled the container with anti-bacterial “veggie wash” near the veggie-washing sink

and let the tomatoes soak for more than a minute

then dumped out the wash into the sink,

slid the container onto his pushcart,

wheeled the cart back to the workstation,

and began using a mechanical tomato slicer

to slice tomatoes into five-pound heat-sealing bags

one tomato at a time. it is a job

well suited to one with a long-distance runner’s

or afghan-crocheter’s mentality,

someone who drives satisfaction from repetition

and precision.

but even runners and crocheters need some distraction

from repetition that may grow more tedious

with each passing hour. the tomato-slicing employee

found he had just such a need, so he broke up the tedium

by plucking out tomatoes in one specific area of the container

so that a cavity was formed

in the volume of tomatoes, and the cavity became a cave

as the tomato-plucker reached the container’s floor

and additional tomatoes were plucked

from the floor level while the tomato walls,

kept from collapsing by weight-pressure

from the top layers, were pluck-eaten away.

as far as the plucker could tell, this handiwork

did not slow his production, and may in fact

have increased his focus and efficiency.

..

eventually, of course, a wall collapsed, and when it did

the tomato-plucker suddenly realized

that he was unwittingly modeled a form of erosion

that bore a slight similarity

to the process by which structures

like the Grand Canyon

were formed.

he was elated and chagrined to find

that his working time had also eroded away

and he would have to hustle to clean up his station

by clock-out time.

..

as he clocked out he felt regret

that he was no longer in high school

and was this unable to convert his discovery

into a Science Fair project, but he still

felt ridiculously good.

we are in the twilight of manual labor

and the work i do slicing tomatoes will dry up sooner or later.

but till it does I put on six gloves–

vinyl, cut-resistant mesh, vinyl–

and with my left three-gloved hand I pluck a well-washed tomato from a container,

place it stem-orificed down on the runway of the nonmotorized tomato slicer,

and with my elbow tucked in, in the manner of a boxer delivering a body blow to an opponent, ram the tomato through a parallel set of blades remindful of open venetian blinds,

while my right hand waits on the other side of the blades

to catch the freshly subdivided tomato.

that’s the plan, anyway. in a perfect world with ripe yet firm tomatoes and a slicer with new blades, it is a lovely process.

today was unlovely.

all tomatoes are not created equal. most in a case i was slicing were overripe. more than one of this batch also had skins cut-resistant enough so that the imposed pressure of blades-ramming caused a rupture, jamming the tomato in the blades and spraying juice and seeds.

one tomato had the temerity to spit in my eye.

halfway through my shift i changed aprons, the sprayscape looking like something done on canvas by one of the lesser abstract impressionists.

i finished my shift, drove home, and shed tomato-redolent clothing, but would not be surprised if my hair retained some of the plant-based fragrance, even though I wear a bouffant hair net on the job.

but it is honest work…declaims the Tomatoman.