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I was hoping to see the inside of that hell-hole that is the shack where you take your fish to be scaled, gutted, and possibly boned. It was the very first place where I became a big tipper--even though I had very little money to spare at the time. I was just appalled at the working conditions and felt so very bad for all those unerringly nice men who worked there and who made sure they knew exactly what I wanted them to do the fish. Sorta made the crap job I had at the time seem not so bad after all. Yeah, OK, call it "liberal guilt." Whatever.

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