Authors Note:

I worked in the meat packing industry from 1979 to 1988. It was an enlightening time for me personally, during a point of my life when my impressions of the world were being formed. I’m working on a book about that time called Animals. Here is an excerpt from that book on the topic of government regulations and my “real life” experiences in a heavily regulated industry.

The inspection scam

Our USDA Inspector’s name was Inspector Trimble.  He was the highest paid person in the building.  It was mandated by the government, that he had his own office in the plant.  No one else but the owners had their own office, but here was this guy exercising his right to an office.  Inspector Trimble always seemed to know his rights, and what he was due via contract.  He wasn’t leaving anything on the table.

His office was equip with a cot.  He said it was because he got migraines.  I think it was because he liked to sleep through work…which he often did.  He’d hit the floor humming and singing and putting on a show for the first half hour or so of the day.  His job was to inspect the glands on the head parts one of the line workers would bring him.  By inspecting the glands, he could look for potential tainted beef, and quickly locate the carcass associated with that head and flag it for further inspection on quarantine.  But within 30 minutes to an hour each day, Inspector Trimble’s coffee apparently stopped working.  He would start yawning.  And before too much longer, he would hand he inspection tools over to me, and say, “I’m going up to my office for a little while.  Can you cover for me until I get back?” And with that, I’d usually not see him again the rest of the day.  He’d be sleeping.

Now, at this point, I’m new to the kill floor game.  I’m still learning, and it’s hard for me to keep up with my “heads” job as it is, without this clown putting extra work on me.  As a result, I’m considering not doing a real good job inspecting the glands and stamping the meat…because that’s Trimble’s job…which he gets paid more than twice as much as me to do.

Sam, (Ricky’s dad, and my new boss) comes over to me and we have a talk.  Sam says, “I know this isn’t fair, and I know Trimble is a piece of garbage, but the government says I have to have him.  I’m here to tell you that if you are only going to do one job right in this place; make it be the inspection job.  My dad owned this business before me, and his dad before him.  We are in business because we have a multigenerational reputation of selling a good product, at a good price.  If even ONE bad animal gets out of this place, that could be the end of the business…and that’s not going to happen under my tenure.  That’s not going to be my place in this family.  I’m not going to be the son who runs this business into the ground.  Do you understand me?  I’ll help if need be, but don’t let anything bad get out of this place.”

With that, he spent some time with me.  Showing me exactly what to look for and what to do.  Far more than Trimble ever showed me in the few seconds he spent with me before going to his office hotel room.

So I’m thinking, wouldn’t it be funny if the public knew that they think the government is keeping their food safe and they count on that USDA stamp as an assurance that the meat has been inspected: and not simply pushed to market by those greedy business owners.  

Wouldn’t it be funny if they knew that the government was actually asleep up in his office, doing nothing but making the meat more expensive; while the “greedy businessman” is here, making sure the  product is safe and good?  Wouldn’t that be funny?

And as a result no one respected Trimble.  As he walked by with his government issued outfit and clip board, the workers would take strips of this sticky, bubbly fat that is on some cows and flick it on his helmet.  The skill of some of these folks, in flipping this ooze was really something remarkable.  By the time he got done making his rounds, he usually looked like he was attacked by slugs: as that was a fitting look for such a fraud of a man.