PASS CHRISTIAN, Miss. — It is only 9 a.m., and already I have stabbed myself twice. My back aches from crouching on a rickety plastic footstool. My jacket and face are spackled with a gray sludge that sprays me each time I crack open an oyster.
And yet the hoodies and rubber overalls worn by the men beside me are almost spotless. This is all the more remarkable because they are moving much, much faster than me. By the end of the day, each of them will have shucked about five times as many oysters as I have.
The skill with which the 46 shuckers employed by Crystal Seas Seafood practice their trade is impressive to behold. But it is also unsettling, as I know that such skill was acquired after months — and in many cases years — spent toiling in this cold and windowless warehouse reeking of oyster juice on the Mississippi Gulf Coast.
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