In a Pickle...

Three Hours at a Pickle Factory
By Maggi Stivers

From where I had been placed to work, it was impossible to see exactly where the pickles were coming from, but they had started slowly to pass by us on a conveyer belt. Kelsey and I and two other workers stood on a bench around a foot higher than the ground. Right in front of us was one of the conveyer belts, and then there was an empty space with a metal box underneath to catch the bad pickles. On the other side of the empty space there was another belt with another set of four employees doing the same thing as us. Approximately, seven feet behind them was the exact same set up.

We were the first human interaction that these pickles had since they came inside the factory. It was our job to pick out any bad pickles that passed by us. At first, there were only around ten or so pickles in front of us at a time, but quickly the entire width of belt was full. Every where I looked, there was a bad pickle. It was a quick process of seeing a pickle with a section missing or discolored, picking it up, throwing into the middle and repeating. From time to time, the conveyer would stop and force us to just stare the same pickles for what seemed like forever.

After the pickles had the majority of the bad ones removed and had past by all four of us, they would tumble down the belt and continue on the path to be placed in a jars at the end. I honestly have no clue what happens to the pickles after they pass by us. The factory seemed to have machines that would fill up half a football field. All I know is that at the end of the line, the jars of pickles were ready to be placed into a cardboard box, which is then placed on a pallet full of boxes and moved into the warehouse.

The Gedney Pickle sign
indicating the front entrance
of the plant. 

Gedney Pickle Factory is and has been located in Chaska, Minnesota since 1893. Originally the company had locations in Minneapolis, Saint Paul, Chaska, Omaha and Kearney, Nebraska and Mauton, Wisconsin. However in 1958, the entire operation moved to a new warehouse in Chaska. This location is where I became involved with the pickle factory. My friend Kelsey had been hired earlier in the summer and told me that they were always looking to hire college students. All I had to do was call the boss,  tell her I was a friend of Kelsey’s,  and that I was interested in working there. After several unanswered messages, she called me back and invited me to come in for an orientation meeting and start working the day after.

The plant entrance, which was used by most factory employees, was the only set of doors along south east side of the building. This entrance was not only convenient because it led directly into the factory but also because it was located directly across the road from a trailer park where a large number of employees lived. At the start and end of both the morning and the evening shift, employees would cross the road in herds.

In a Star Tribune article, written by Janet Moore addressed how the Chaska area is being referred to as the "rural-Metro Hispanics" by demographers. In the 1980's the census determined that only thirty-five Latinos lived in the town. By the year 2000, there was 1000 and the population has continued to rise. The article attributes this to the discovery of cheaper housing available within the area. The trailer park, which housed both a  large number of both Latinos and Gedney Pickle Factory employees had been nicknamed "Pickle Pits." 

The floor of the factory was cement and different markings along the floor referred to different things. There was a thick red line surrounding all the machines, anywhere inside the line a person needed to be dressed appropriately which included gloves, a hair net and ear plugs. The pickles started out by passing on the part of the line where Kelsey and I had been placed.

The plant entrance of the Gedney Pickle Factory. 

When I had first learned about an opportunity working at a pickle factory, I wasn’t even considering looking for a new summer job. I had planned on working at the pool where I had worked since I was a junior in high school. At the pool, depending whether I was life guarding or teaching swimming lessons, my pay rate changed but I was making around $9.60 an hour. The only part that was slightly negative was that it was a fight to get hours with so many college kids being back. This fact is what pushed me to take the idea of working at the pickle factory more seriously. The pay at the pickle factory was only $9 an hour, but it was a full time job with some opportunities for overtime.

Before I had actually ever stepped foot inside the factory, Kelsey and I both heard different stories from people that we knew who had worked there. Kelsey’s brother had spent a whole summer working there in high school and her cousin worked there for an hour before throwing up due to the smell. Her brother had told us, that it was best not to let the Mexicans, who were a large percentage of the employees, know that you could speak or understand any Spanish. While we were working, I didn’t really know why we weren’t supposed to. However, I asked Kelsey about this more recently and she explained that if the Mexicans knew we could partly understand what they were saying, they would stop speaking. Keeping our knowledge of the Spanish language a secret allowed us to be able to spy on what they were discussing while at work.

As soon as the pickles began to pass by us, the smell was everywhere. There was no way to prevent you from this smell. I’ll admit I don’t like pickles, but I never thought they could produce this kind of smell. My first day of work I didn’t eat any breakfast and when I get hungry, I get terrible headaches. I had felt like my head from going to explode but I had to stand there for three hours feeling terrible. At some point, I realized that this was not how I wanted to spend my summer. I would rather work less; make less money than have to be a part of this organization. Meanwhile, the pickles continued pass by and at one point I began coughing so much that I couldn’t control it. I felt like my body wanted to throw up but I didn’t have any food in my stomach.

The back side of the Gedney Pickle Factory.

This was my first and last day at the pickle factory, and I returned to my summer job at the pool as planned. It was really hard telling and explaining to people why my job there didn’t last. Kelsey had worked the entire first shift, but ended up quitting as soon as it was over. However, she had quit for totally different reasons then me. After I had left, several of the Mexican men had made physical references to her chest and spoke in Spanish about her body. She had even told the boss about why she was leaving, but was unable to do anything legally about it because she said she couldn’t identify which men had done the actions.

Her and I have still remained close friends after this experience, but what we wondered is how come only primarily Mexicans work there? The pay is equivalent to a decent part time job, making more than minimum wage. It’s definitely not the best job out there, but if it pays the bills what’s differences between picking out pickles to flipping burgers at McDonald’s?

Here is a video about the Gedney pickle factory which was featured on the television show, America's Heartland.

All Photos Taken by Krisitin Stivers