
Sweatshops. Sounds kind’a nice as I watch the snow fall outside my window here in SLC, in April. Oh, to feel the sweat trickle down the small of my back and then slowly spread along my waistband front and back until it looks like I have thoroughly wet myself. Oh to feel a hard dirt floor with my blistered and cracked feet and to be able to gnaw on my swollen, spongy tongue longing for a cool drink of water. Instead I just sit here at my fancy computer typing away with a hot mug of tea watching this freekin’ frozen crap cling to my grapevines and tulips.
Surely I jest. But seriously, in my quest to discover the truth about global sweatshop numbers and stats I have discovered that this is an idiotic quest. Much more important are the numbers and factors that make sweatshops not only flourish, but attractive.