The Finest Potato Stories

Potato Chips Part 2

To set the scene: Good Old-Fashioned Lover Boy by Queen is playing gently in the background of an ominously large warehouse. Human people wander the aisles that are stacked similarly to the aisles in Costco. The only difference is that the ceilings are so far in the distance you can't even see them. Oh, and the shelves only hold potatoes. Specifically the varieties Lady Rosetta and Lady Claire. I don't know why the potatoes were named after women, but I guess it makes sense. They are good for making chips, according to some website. Thanks to Google for supplying me with that information.

You may ask, why are there so many potatoes? And what could possibly be done with a stack of potatoes 2 miles in the air? I mean, how do they even get the potatoes down from the top? Well, it's actually quite a complex process.  There's a system in the factory involving pulleys and also forklifts, along with tall rolling ladders you might see in some sort of fantastical library. But I am just a potato! So I don't honestly know much about science or whatever it's called nowadays. My only branch of knowledge is about my life! My name is Jack and I am a potato confined to the Miracle Chips and Crisps Factory ever since I was shipped here 7 months ago.

Before we get too far, I should probably let you know that I am about to die. It has honestly been quite a long time for me as an unearthed potato, and I can feel myself about to give in. It's quite disgusting to actively have your body decompose while simultaneously giving birth to all your possible children. I got used to it after the first week, though. 

Oh, a new song is playing. It's Cotton Eyed Joe. Just thought I should update. The people's music tastes are not always consistent.

Anyways. I was once a dirt potato or whatever. I lived in the dirt blah blah blah. You know what happens with potatoes. I had some friends in the Earth who also happened to be my siblings. So my dating life was pretty dry. When I got to be big and strong and beautiful (as my rotted mother told me), there were rough dry hands grabbing at my hair and smashing into the dirt with what I now know as a shovel. I have learned English in my time at the factory, since I have nothing better to do with my time. 

I was ripped brutally out of the ground and tossed in a truck. Transported to the factory where I reside now. Into the large dark toned ceiling, and cement floors, and wooden shelves. I noticed my friend Bertha was screaming from the bin beside me. It was all quite a stressful ordeal that is hard to forget, even when you have no brain.

Humans negotiated and bribed outside my bin before grabbing in and shuffling some of us around. 

"Look at this one!" The human shouted across the room, hoisting me upward. "We can't use him for chips! He looks like he has a whole human face on him! That's crazy."

 I felt myself getting lifted up higher and then placed regrettably on a shelf, where I was forgotten. I sighed heavily. Being taken from my family kinda sucked. But this was before I knew what was coming for them.

From my new perch I had a much better vantage point where I could watch down on my brethren. In the near distance I saw a rolley machine that looked somewhat like a treadmill. And even closer was a large box. I could feel heat pouring off the side of that thing even from here.

The humans started grabbing my friends. Placing them on a wooden board, they started slicing them into tiny pieces. I now know this is called a "chip" shape. Suddenly all I could hear was screaming. What the heck. They were dying weren't they? And I could not even look away. This is so sad. I think a tear even fell from my eye to the floor eight feet below.

It went on like that for a long time. And even after they were cut up, they did not stop screaming. Next they were placed on metal pans and shoved into the roiling heat. 

Soon there were no screams and I was just left by myself. A puddle of tears had formed near my face. I had to move on fast though, because I realized this would be happening every single day until I was either found or passed away myself. I mean, a new load of potatoes was already emerging in the corner of my eye.

After a while longer, the potatoes were removed from the oven. They looked crispy. And kinda sad. Then they got to run on the treadmill. Faster than they ever could in life, the "chips" zoomed down the treadmill into a giant bucket. That had to be some sort of oxymoron for something. There were multiple buckets at the end each filling slowly with chips.

I watched as grainy green dust was dumped carelessly into each bucket. A noxious cloud started to float overhead.

Then I saw him. 

"Ah, dill pickle!" The suddenly appeared cowboy said to the factory worker. Apparently he lived around the corner on his mountainous ranch and liked to appear day to day and sample the chips. He snatched one of the chips from the bucket (no gloves, which is totally a health and safety violation!) and shoved it into his mouth. He grinned and gave a massive thumbs up. "That's alright!" 

The chips were distributed into metallic bags and then they were gone,

And that has become my everyday life. For 7 months. So I try to focus my interest on the music playing rather than the screams of my friends. Right now they are playing "No Tears Left to Cry" by Ariana Grande, which is ironic since my friends were screaming for help. 

So yeah, I guess that's my life. Dirt potato, to face potato, to shelf potato. Now I just want to be called Jack. Remember my name next time you eat a bag of chips.