In the mid 80s, as part of my job I had to go into chicken slaughterhouses in the middle of the summer all over North Georgia.
Until you have walked around for couple of hours in full rain gear in one of those places under an unconditioned hot box of a metal building, you haven’t lived.
Sugar, schmugar - I DREAMT of having sugar on my boots ;)
Funny, though how the human brain/senses can become desensitized. I brought an assistant one time who by the end of the tour had thrown up his previous week of food, and was moving into the dry heaves; I was by then unfazed.
I’ll see your poultry plant and raise you a distillery!