Author Information
Potato Chip Factory
My father's Parkinson symptoms began to build 2 weeks after
his brother drowned. The 2 brothers' families had gathered for July 4th.
He had been setting off fireworks from a boat in
a private little lake. The boat capsized and he was hit on the head. His
body was brought back to shore. His widow was left with 5 children, including
a baby.
As time went by my father's Parkinson's worsened and he became bedridden. My mother began teaching and I went to work in a potato chip factory, the experience of which made me a socialist. The pay was $1 an hour. There were undocumented
workers there. One of the many jobs was sitting by the conveyor belt
and taking burnt or otherwise imperfect chips off the line. Hour after
hour watching them made me dizzy. The greatest conceren was not
having a paper and pen to scribble down the many thoughts which
queued.
Now any well designed software could program a robot to do what the
imperfect chip removers did.
