Food handler

"It's like working in the paper mill as a college student," I thought to myself.  "Except, back then, I got paid union scale.  Now I'm doing it for free. "

Actually, it wasn't a good comparison.  I spent 40 hours per week of drudgery at my summer job; today I was through after 2½ hours, working alongside friends.  But I was older, and it felt longer.

I was sorting and boxing discarded food for distribution to those whose paychecks, if any, weren't enough to keep their families fed.  A former law firm colleague of mine has been doing this volunteer work for years, and several times a year she asks for additional volunteers.  I bit.

And I'm glad I did.

The non-profit agency maintains a large warehouse and processing facility just south of Seattle.  Grocers and other food vendors donate food -- produce, in today's case -- that remains unsold beyond the expiration of its formal shelf life.  Much, but not all, of the food is still both safe and edible. 

And that's where we came in.

My 2½ hours were spent in a huge, cold room, working with about six other volunteers sorting box after box of discarded fruits and vegetables.  Looking for mold, for rot, for over-ripeness.  Sorting acceptable food between that which needed to be distributed within 24 hours, and that which had a longer edible life span.  And then packing the fruit and vegetables of all kinds into large boxes for storage and/or transport to the large number of food banks across the state.

Transported to food banks doing the job of feeding the poor that government programs no longer are able to satisfy -- because of both governmental cutbacks and increases in the number of impoverished citizens.

Much of the donated food, upon inspection, had to be discarded.  I found out like what it's like to handle disintegrating produce of many kinds, at all levels of disintegration.  I passed food, because it passed minimum standards, that I would not buy at the market or care to eat myself.  But it was safe and it was nourishing.  It would keep families healthy.

After we finished, we were given our results.  In our short hours of labor, we had packed 3,651 pounds of edible food.  Enough to provide 3,229 meals to men, women, and children who were hungry and often malnourished.  We were told our figures were significantly higher than average for voluntary work at the facility (thereby satisfying that good ol' American competitive itch).

Less than three hours of work out of my leisurely retirement.  But a week of work in a paper mill never offered as much satisfaction.