“Hey, there’s a new load down on Door 22. Need your eyes on it.”
That’s the heads up I used to get from “Big Steve,” the senior receiver on the dock when I worked as a produce quality control inspector. Although Steve was all about getting the right license tags (receiving stickers) on the matching inbound pallets and knew nothing about fresh produce, he helped me make sure I didn’t miss anything on our fast-paced receiving dock.
Being an inspector is a part of my career I don’t touch upon enough.
However, it was a crucial couple of years. Originally, I had skipped this step to serve as a foodservice buyer. Years later, when the call for layoffs came along, I was relegated, reluctantly, from the comfort of my buyer’s chair to the reality of life in the warehouse.
As hard as that chapter was, I look back on the time as indispensable.
The education in the inspection job sometimes came in careful, measured servings — such as matching purchase orders, grades, sizes and more in lower-stress inbound loads. Other lessons hit like cold, rogue waves — overwhelmed with problems: frozen reefers, rusted taco shred lettuce, decayed or out-of-temp issues, damaged items, shifted loads, late loads, incorrect labels, sizes, grades — you get the idea. I was on the run all day.
In fact, suspected trouble issues were associated with: “Where there’s smoke, there’s fire.”
That prompted a longer look at suspect produce loads, which usually added at least a couple hours to an already stressed day, dealing with rejection paperwork, stacking kicked pallets aside in a cramped dock area, handling disputes with buyers and shippers — not to mention skipping lunch, having sore muscles and filling in on days off.
Fortunately, I had help. On good days, we were a team of two. One inspector worked the dock and the other worked the warehouse, keeping an eye out for orphan pallets of produce in misplaced reserve slots, keeping pick slots orderly, culling any product that was breaking down or damaged and reporting issues to the buyers.
Our job was to ensure that only quality produce came in and that it shipped out in the same condition.
A common comment to a buyer was something like: “Dave, you have 30 limes in the pick, been there a few days now and are close to being on life support,” which was a heads up that if they didn’t sell soon, the product would be headed for donation or the dumpster.
As challenging as it was, I valued the inspection chapter of my produce career. I was able to get hands-on, one-on-one USDA inspection training. I learned about the federal inspection process, following the quality-condition scoring metric, along with how such fresh produce is managed, sometimes ripened, sometimes moved around, slotted, shipped, received, culled, handled, reworked, repacked and much more in a warehouse capacity.
The one image that especially comes to mind while working in that huge, dimly lit warehouse? Walking.
I must have walked 15 miles a day in that warehouse, even using the electric floor jack. Some of the buyers and other office staffers used to get out for a short walk during lunchtime to exercise or let off steam. There was no need for that as a produce quality control inspector.
I walked so much in my shifts through different temperature holding zones, through the dry zones, the ripening room, the loading/receiving dock, the equipment area and occasionally to the warmth of the cubicle and my little-used desk. I walked so much that I lost weight, dropped a few pant sizes, went through a couple of cooler coats. And sleeplessness? Never an issue.
I still have a few tools left over in my home desk from those inspection days: a grape and cherry sizer and some thermometers — and, of course, my refractometer is a constant, Brix-measuring companion on my kitchen counter.
Those were the days of inspecting and warehouse work: lots of stress; dealing with truckers, drivers, load selectors, salespeople and federal inspectors; lifting; trimming; and phone calls. There was lots of camaraderie, too. A real Mike Rowe, “Dirty Jobs” type of job — a hands-on, who-needs-a-gym-membership, walking-and-working-your-tail-off kind of job.
And an invaluable chapter in the produce aisle.
Armand Lobato’s more than 50 years of experience in the produce business span a range of foodservice and retail positions. He has written a weekly retail column for two decades.
