That door led to a bleak-looking corridor, along which he proceeded to lead me. When we got to the first door on the right of the corridor, he said, "Prepare yourself. It's quite noisy in here." And he opened the door. He hadn't been kidding. The room into which that door led was enormous, and it was full of assembly lines. They weren't the types of assembly lines I'd seen in newspapers and magazines, because those had been photographs of automobile assembly lines. These lines were long and skinny, and each one had a moving belt on it with women standing on either side of the belt, each one doing something to whatever came down the belt. All the women wore aprons, face masks, and puffy caps. Not precisely my style. I was glad I wouldn't really have to work there. "Mercy sakes," said I, rather at a loss for words for one of the few times in my life. He grinned down at me and said, "Here. I'll show you what we do here and how we do it." He led the way to the beginning of one of the assembly lines, where a woman seated on a tall stool, wearing what looked like motoring goggles and with a doctor's protective white mask over her nose and mouth, pulled a handle whenever a jar came up to her machine.
