"I didn't see the kill floor, but i saw plenty of lamb parts"

My housemate is in my room telling me about his day at work as a union rep for the slaughter houses of Detroit and the surrounding area

I guess never realized that places in Detroit still slaughter animals right on site. Apparently when a truck load of fuzzy little lambs rolls up, they use a goat to lore the lambs to their death. This is obviously a perfectly sensible thing to do, for if I were approaching a foreign and suspicious building, awash in blood and screaming lamb, should the entrance feature a goat I would think to my self, surely no one will kill me here. They have goats.

This brings me to an interesting point. If you can't explain what you do for a living in six words or less, you have a shit job. (Note: you may also have a shit job if you CAN explain it in six words or less. For example: Hi, I'm Neil Downaneater, licensed Corpse Fluffer)

Take my typical conversation:
them: What do you do?
me: I do service... I drive a van.. for this company, National Time and Signal.
them: ummm... Is that Glen Frey over there?

As far as kill floors go, well grandpa can tell you that the old way is the best way.