By Tuesday morning at 10 am, all of the children in Mrs. Henderson’s 3rd grade class were outside, lined up and in single file, getting onto the bus. Everyone’s permission slips had been signed, and they were all on their best behavior.
The long-awaited tour of the local pickle factory was today and everybody was excited, especially Tommy, who had not done his math homework last night and was hoping Mrs. Henderson would be distracted by the pickle tour and forget about their math assignment.
As you would expect, the good behavior didn’t last long. The noise level inside of the bus rose considerably, the longer the ride to the factory took. Some of the kids were speculating as how the pickles were made, while others were hoping to see robots working in the factory.
Jennifer had been hoping to sit next to Tommy on the bus, but by the time she had climbed on board, Tommy was already way in the back. A little disappointed, she sat behind the driver and across from Mrs. Henderson. Her plan now was to stall when getting off the bus and just as Tommy came by, she would stand up and join the line.
The children were surprised to see a couple of grown men, dressed in their Sunday clothes, waiting for them at the front door to the building. Mrs. Henderson greeted the two men and they stood talking for a few minutes, while the children filed off the bus and formed a single-file line along the sidewalk.
One of the men, the one holding the small box, came over to the head of the line and started handing each child a visitor badge. They were on a string to hang around their neck and the badge itself was green and shaped like a pickle. Big, bold letters across the pickle said, VISITOR.
The two men disappeared into the front door and Mrs. Henderson, in her very serious voice, instructed the group to stay together and never wander off. She also added that it may be noisy in there, so save all of their questions until the end of the tour. Taking hold of little Mary Parker’s hand, she looked back at the group and again said, “Now stay together”, and she led them all into the lobby.
The children were surprised to see the lobby looked nothing like a factory. It was clean and quiet and there was a lady sitting at a long-curved desk, talking on the telephone. High up on the wall was a poster of Peter Pickle. The kids knew him from the TV commercials.
One of the well-dressed men returned and stood next to Mrs. Henderson. She gave him the OK sign, and the group followed him through the big double doors that led out onto the factory floor.
It was much louder than any of the kids were expecting. Giant machines were clanging and grinding, and nobody was explaining what they were for or what they were doing, The tour just kept following the yellow strips that marked the safety aisle.
Along various spots in the factory they could see people doing different jobs, One guy was watching a fast moving line of pickle jars going along a conveyer line. It looked like it was his job to make sure that none had fallen over or to make sure there weren’t any missing. Tommy thought to himself, I could do that job. I bet he didn’t have to know math.
The deeper into the factory they walked, the more automated things became. Large robot arms swung around picking things up and setting them down someplace else. Inspection cameras flashed at every jar that passed in front of it, and one machine slapped labels onto the jars, while another filled them with pickle brine. That area smelled the worst of anywhere. Several kids held their noses when they walked past.
Mesmerized by the swinging robotic arms, Tommy had not noticed that the group had moved on. As he stared at the movement and listened to the sounds surrounding him, a giant arm picked him up from behind and lifted him over the conveyers. Too scared to yell and afraid to squirm around, he just closed his eyes and hoped for the best.
The mechanical jaws that had picked him up, released him as he was directly over a giant pickle jar. With ease, Tommy slid down between the pickles that were already in the jar. Suddenly the jar jolted forward, and Tommy found himself spinning along a long curvy line, getting flashed by inspection cameras and squirted with pickle brine.
Then, just overhead, another robotic arm swung a large gold-colored lid onto the top of the jar and spun it around until it was very tight. As Tommy looked out through the pickle jar, he could see his schoolmates far across the factory. None of them had noticed him missing, not even Jennifer.
Not wanting to get pickle brine in his eyes, Tommy closed them and wondered where he would end up. He thought about the various possibilities. Surely, he would sit on a supermarket shelf for a while. But then where? Hopefully not to some retirement home, where no one would be able to unscrew the lid. Maybe he would end up in some dark warehouse or possibly packed into some truck and driven across the country, ending up in some country store where they only spoke southern. He would surely stand out there. They’d spot him in an instant.
Tommy felt a hand on
his shoulder. “Did you get separated from
your group?” Tommy opened his eyes. It was the second man he had seen out in
front of the building. “Do you like
watching the robotic arms do their job?”
Tommy felt embarrassed, standing there daydreaming. “Come with me, I’ll get you back with your
class.”
The bus ride back to
the school was just as loud as it was on the way out. Mrs. Henderson was answering all of the question
being yelled out, and Tommy, once again sitting in the back, thought about the
adventure he had taken and was glad to not smell like pickle juice.
The End
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