Factory Girl

I started work in a kiwi pack house today. I grade the kiwi's. Basically, I am the front lines against the rotten and spoiled kiwi's, they get thrown down the trash shoot, the rest go on through the pack house maze to get stickered, bundled in boxes and put in cold storage, when they are mature they get packed on boats to travel around the world and fill people's mouths with happiness.
I am making this sound far too whimsical. I'm a bit delirious.
I stand on a platform, under harsh florescent lights, the conveyor belts start up at 8 am sharp, the fruit come thundering down from beyond my line of sight, I imagine an enormous kiwi avalanche. There is music blaring above me but the giant machinery that surrounding me on all other sides drowns out the melodies until all I can hear is pure skull-rattling cacophony. The frenzied noise alone makes me anxious. I stand braced, my gloved hands on the edge of the belt poised to snap up the unacceptable fruit. Shiny white PV cylinders travel down the line as they ecstatically spin one way nudging the kiwi fruit in the other direction. Your eyes want to follow the little bastards down the line but you can't, the best way to avoid becoming disoriented and dizzy is to keep your eyes moving up and down up and down up and down, never side to side. Within an hour, I feel nauseous, my head hurts and my eyes have trouble focusing. When the conveyor belt comes to a sudden stop my body immediately wants to lurch to the right and keep the movement going, I can't look back down until it starts again. I try to think of something else, but it's all I can do to stay focused on the endless deluge of imperfect fruit hurdling towards me. My eyes rapidly scan up and down, my hands quickly move from side to side, I reach for stems and leaves as I watch for all of the different types of rot and blemishes, I grab before I think, I make a decision based on the degree of damage and by the time I decide the fate of one there are more that I must judge.
Then, a few hours into it, everything seems to slow down. I can't look up from the fruit because I am scared that I will pass out, I stare at the fruit rolling down the concourse and I notice that my hands are moving slowly too. The woman next to me asks if I am ok, and I want to get off the platform and sit down, but I nod my head and breathe, afraid that any sudden movement will have me crashing to the ground. For a minute I am terrified. My brain is moving slowly, I cant decide to breathe deeper or not, I'm not even sure if I am breathing hard already, if I am really moving slowly, if everything is ok. I don't know how long this episode lasts but an alarm sounds, the belts crash to a stop and it is lunchtime. It gets easier and far less scary in the afternoon.
When I am done for the day, I remove my fashionable hairnet and take off my stained apron then I wash my hands. I still feel sick as I leave the place. My hips hurt, my back hurts, my wrists hurt and my neck hurts. My balance is off and I notice my drunken swagger as Katie and I walk through town, I feel lightheaded, I appreciate all the things in the world that aren't constantly moving.
I tried to write this when I first got home and I couldn't do it, I couldn't think of any of the right words and I had trouble forming coherent thoughts. That job is a complete and total mindfuck, thank god it's temporary.