My first real job (“real” defined as a job that had a future, unlike my fast food, car washing business and door to door sales jobs I had tried as a USC student in L.A.) out of college was for a meat processor in Denver. Typical of what you’d expect to see at a small beef plant, the building was vintage 1950s, and smelled like musty meat of years gone by and cleaning chemicals.
I nicknamed the plant “the battleship,” as it was made of concrete and steel and had all sorts of small rooms that twisted and turned into a maze that one could easily get lost in without a smart phone with GPS to help you navigate your way around. The “battleship” was located in the old “Stockyards” section of Denver near I-70 and I-25.