Arts
The next morning I woke up determined to get a job at Chicken Fillet A. "Chicken Fillet D through M is more your speed, dear," Margaret said with a smile. I didn't appreciate that, even if she was probably right.... After the food riots–what feels like a hundred years ago now–the government instituted the Chicken Fillet factory strategy. The goal being: if you wanted a hot plate of bird you could get always get one, free of charge, from one of a thousand or more full-service chicken factory and restaurant combos. Their motto was "From hatchin' to digestin' these squabblers ain't restin'!" It was a confused motto to say the least. Of course, you could still hunt and gather any other means of sustenance you liked. The shots of a rifle taking down a bear, a squirrel or an aardvark became just as common as music coming from a radio once had. People couldn't be expected to survive on chicken alone. But still, the Chicken Fillet factory strategy was how most people got their meals and it was divided by class. We were C or maybe B folk before retirement and kept that rank on paper, but the nature of our age and perceived uselessness to society made us E or F people in practice. It wasn't unusual for a retiree to apply for a Chicken Fillet position. If I got lucky, I'd land a managerial position somewhere at one of the A, B and C factories where Margaret and I were still allowed to shop. There, the chickens still looked like chickens. When I entered by credentials into the computer and it immediately spat back out to me "??????? ?????? ? - ?????? XVI (??) - ?????? ???? ??????? ??????," I shouldn't have been surprised. But it still stung. --- Support this podcast: https://anchor.fm/myspace/support