Tomato plants

I was on the kibbutz for two and a half months. For eight hours a day, I worked in the green houses, under an ^incredibly charismatic and not in the least bit annoying, immature, or degrading^ boss, Erez. This was my job: I ripped the stems off of tomato plants, and put them on other plants. This was my job for eight hours a day. I popped off the stems, and put them on other plants. Eight hours a day, same thing six days a week. (Actually, Fridays were only seven hours...but...) Standing up the whole time, in the heat of a greenhouse, without the actual fresh air and sunlight, no walkman allowed, and nobody else to talk to. ^Great fun.^ (Remember, I paid to be on this program.)

I hope to God, that when I am old and retired that I could classify this as the Worst Job I Ever Had. I don't even want to think about what it could be second to.

The weird thing was that for a long time, even though I knew one hundred percent how to pop off the stupid limbs, and could put them on other plants with the best of them, nobody seemed to know exactly what I was doing. I saw maybe three tomatoes that were actually grown on the plants the entire time I was working there, yet every three weeks, we'd tear up all the plants, which never sprouted, and they planted more.

I asked my boss, and he just said, "don't worry, it's important." So, being me, I started to get paranoid. Maybe they were disposing of unwanted kibbutzniks, and their diced bodies were being placed in with the grass. Maybe the kibbutz grew invisible tomatoes that I just was unaware of. Maybe the kibbutz was just trying to find useless work for the workers, so that we would complain, and they would find something that would be a replacement...due to the manner of our complaint. The movie\cartoon Attack of the Killer Tomatoes sprung into my head as I worked. Maybe it was some big tax loophole. Maybe they were seeing how much crap we were really willing to put up with. Or, maybe they were experimenting on us, and they just kept us in the greenhouse all day to simplify lab conditions. Maybe all of the bosses were just doing junior science projects, so that after a while, they could work on a real green house project.

I don't think I would have really figured it out. Apparently, they, on this Kibbutz, raise and sell, for tremendous profit, and in a top secret method, spiders. No, that's not another paranoid guess. That's the truth. The kibbutz sells spiders and bees.

Apparently, these .5 mm arachnids grow on tomato plants, and they are an incredible pesticide. So, when the plants reach their full height, sans fruit, the boss takes this vacuum to the plants, where all the bugs are sucked into some bucket, shipped back to their bosses in Holland, and everybody winds up phenomenally in the black. Well, at least that explained to me why my arms were breaking out. I was afraid I was allergic to tomatoes. Meanwhile, to insure they make the profit margin as high as possible, I suppose they must make the job as boring as possible. I could also say that maybe that's why the bosses must be constantly bugging us, or ticked off, or have a bug stuck up a certain bodily cavity. But won't say that.

The job apparently is top secret. The common story on the job was that a worker on his last day there went to take some pictures for memories, and they exposed his film.

I'm just imagining what would happen if somebody decided to mole out the operation. It's really not that complicated what they do. So, one of many former workers, thoroughly annoyed with the former bosses sells it off. It sound like a movie. Suddenly, the international search is off to find the person. Trust nobody, and there are no remember, there are no coincidences! He runs, and the powerful multinational company sends its best people to wipe out this spy. Suddenly Interpol, the FBI, and the Shabbaq get involved with dozens of other intelligence agencies to find this mastermind, with the huge bug bosses paying for them. (The Mossad would have joined, but of course, they keep screwing up when it comes to bugs. [sorry.]) He outwits them all, but he is finally killed unceremoniously, devoured by the little spiders, his final actions being screaming and cursing how the world should not have made such horrible spiders...

OK, yes. Maybe I am unimaginatively paranoid. But...I could actually see the outline of this working.

Get me outa here!!!

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---

Michael Kadish

"When anyone is held up, he shall immediately telephone the details to a telephone operator. She will plug in every phone in the city and relate the details of the holdup. Near every telephone is to be a shotgun, hanging on the wall. When the story of the holdup is spread through the phones every citizen will seize his shotgun, and rush to the street. All whistles will blow, and at this signal all traffic, including pedestrians, will halt. Anyone besides law officers who moves will be shot." -- George W. Durham, proposition to stop crime in Kansas City

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