After all the wandering through valleys and mazes of turkey essence and chemical wash basins, you will hopefully be lucky enough to find the oven room. It’s a large room filled with several tall ovens which are each roughly the size of a studio apartment. The temperature will suddenly jump by twenty degrees or more, and the strong, sweet smell will vigorously trigger associations of comfort and happiness to the point of womb regression. It’s a nice place to warm up, and a nice place to remind yourself that all of what you see has a purpose.

What you saw in the plant was not entirely disgusting, although the thought of eating a turkey product is currently blocked with CIA -like conditioning at a very deep level within your instincts for self-preservation. (Lately, whenever someone near you says the word “gizzardâ€?, you begin indiscriminately kicking ass.) In the end you have been changed by the experience – not paranoid of turkey in any sense, but not entirely sure about having any to eat, either.