I heard
this term a long time ago, before it became the truffles on the entrée of
current political rhetoric. It was one of those things that I’ve always lived
with, but didn’t have a name for. Like Rape Culture.
So, if
for some reason you’re reading this and you don’t know what I’m talking about,
here’s a few definitions found on the Internet.
“Wage slavery
refers to a situation where a person’s livelihood depends on wages…especially
when the dependence is total and immediate.” (Wiki)
“Wage slavery
is the state where you are unable to perceive choices and create courses of
action different from the grind of the job.” Whywork.org
And just
to set the tone for this post, here is a quote found on Whywork.org. “Death is
not the greatest loss in life. The greatest loss is what dies inside us while
we live.” Norman Cousins.
I can’t
speak for the politics of wage slavery. But I can tell you what it looks like,
what it lives like, what it holds back and what it takes from you.
Just at
this company I currently work at, several instances of harassment and
insubordination have occurred that will not be responded to. I’m actually
terrified to write this, in the thought that someone will make the connection
of who I am, even as Nobody, and there goes my job. We all know what happens to
people who speak their minds.
No one
in my position can afford to speak their mind and lose their job.
I could
walk you through a common month as a woman, wife, writer, and clock punching
employee. Maybe that’s best, seeing how it all ties together.
Right
now, I’m writing this from my last refuge. A nook in my closet/utility/laundry
area thing in my human cube apartment. Which I have to be grateful for. It’s
this or sitting on the corner with the very nice homeless man we called “Jesus”
who was mysteriously picked up by Social Services and never heard from again. Watching
it happen sent chills down my spine.
I’ve
made this nook pretty badass. A fabric porch chair covered in blankets and some
wiggle room, extra laundry baskets covered in blankets and I have an ottoman. I
even have a giant plastic skeleton hanging right by me. Hell, I’m going to go
to Wal Mart tomorrow and get a hanging jewelry rack for the closet so I can put
my headphones, smart phone, and pocket tissues in. I’m sitting under the All
and Clorox, so there is a bar above that. It’s going to be downright convenient.
Fuck me, I even have a cup holder.
So,
let’s start at the first of the month. I feel pretty good. As good as I can
feel. But that’s for another day.
I get my
first check of the month, husband gets his first two, and we pay bills that
aren’t due for days, maybe weeks, because that would overlap with rent, which
takes my whole second check. And I haven’t paid this little for rent since the
nineties. Car, car insurance, cell phone, and the adjustments debtors have made
to accommodate our downgraded lifestyle. I don’t have cable or internet access.
I don’t have membership fees, or online subscription services, like Prime,
Play, Hulu, or Netflix. So, groceries and gas, the errant soda at work, and
that’s it.
Some
actual things that have happened; I get yelled at by a customer, which happens
often. Because people know they can do that now and get away with it. Except
when I go to my boss (who has a Doctorate and 15 years youth on me) and tell
them what I need to get this twat out of the line, they have a panic attack.
So, I’m getting Retail Flu, misery at both ends. I can’t get my boss to help
me, I can’t get this customer what they want. Everyone screams at me until they
are tired of it. I tell them I’m going to the bathroom and take headache
medicine instead.
Next
week, I get yelled at by the other boss, in a manner which I like to call
Saddle Up, where they ride your ass for at least an hour, either because they
are unhappy, got a bad review, hate poor people, or today just decided to hate
you. I’ve seen other people get saddled up, and it’s a lot like prison
mentality; I’m so sorry but I’m glad it’s not me. However, this goes on,
yelling at me in front of employees and customers for over two hours. Which
triggers a panic attack so powerful I’m actually immobilized. What I want to do
is leave. If someone had described this to me, I would have thought HR was
already involved. But I get to ride it out, shoulders hunched, while what she
wants keeps flip-flopping back and forth until I finally get to leave my shift.
Also, if
the boss isn’t watching what I’m doing, and isn’t making the only other person
watch the queue, I get screamed at for being busy. So I have to make sure and
tell my boss to pay attention at work while I am doing work so the work gets
done down the line.
A
different manager actually dropped the N word. In front of a new black
co-worker. When they left, I felt the need to apologize and say that I had
never heard that word uttered by another employee here ever, which was the
truth. They let it slide and ignored it for the rest of the day. I agonized
over it after work. I could have reported it. Maybe I should have. The next day
I asked what they wanted to do about it, do you want me to report it, if you
want to report it I will back up your statement. The co-worker was way too cool
about it, and it hit me that this isn’t unusual. The manager in question was
blowharding about how many people he knew and was related to, and this was also
true. The co-worker decided to let it go, they needed the pay more than morals.
What made me feel sick was that I knew exactly what that felt like.
Right
now, I’m waiting for the bills I’ve paid to clear, before I can do anything
else with what’s left. What I’ve forgotten at the store, doctor visits,
prescriptions, or new clothes for work to replace ones that have worn out.
Now I’m
on the second half of the month. My second check is rent. No matter how early
it comes, that’s what it gets written for. Nothing but groceries and gas
happens on rent weeks.
This is
when my medical professional doctorate holding boss decides they are going to
tell me that I don’t actually have food allergies. They like to argue, no
matter how I try to remain calm, it just seems to piss them off more. I tell
them to stop, they say they can just keep going. The only reason it stops is
because they’ve become distracted with something else. This is actual textbook
harrasement. But I’m too scared to do anything about it, because even though
“retaliation” is against the policy, law, whatever, they always manage to find
something. Panic attack, bathroom break. I have my phone on me, desperately
wanting to walk out, report this, something. The best I can do is ignore them,
but they continue through the day, offering to buy me food at some place,
offering to buy lunch some other place because “that’s the only thing we can
eat together” and making remarks about Easter candy, because “it’s too bad you
can’t eat these.”
The
month starts over again. This time the manager throws a fit because you are
helping someone on the phone too long and not doing your job. Even though it’s
an insurance company investigating a customer for fraud. They actually put their
hand on the phone, and it’s just a reflex before they make it look like I hung
up. Now it’s a zoo around me, because my “peers” are watching my boss go ape
shit, me talking on the phone, and covering the phone to try to keep my boss
calm. When the call is finally over, I get accused of mishandling the call and
not doing my job.
Panic
attack. Bathroom break.
I watch
the bank account to make sure rent clears before we pay anything else.
I can do
nothing about any of this. Because my survival depends on every cent I get. I
haven’t gotten to property tax, income tax, vehicle tags, or professional
license renewal fees.
I have
to take the fits of rage, harassment, being singled out, and customer abuse
because if you have a job, you have to hold on for dear life to it.
So, what
does this have to do with writing?
Time and
Money, dumbass.
Everything
plays second fiddle to the J.O.B. I think about writing all day long. A good
idea, a scene, a song for the mood, a quote, someone who inspires a character
(this also happens in a good way, okay?). After a day with panic attacks, it’s
all I can do to come home and lay down. After being the intermediary for
managers who do not want to deal with the filth that they perceive our
customers to be, and be assured, they do, I am out of social chips and my mind
is exhausted. The amount of sleep I get depends on my schedule.
Why does
this make me a Poor Angry Writer? What gives me the right to want to write all
day and “not contribute to society?” If I didn’t have to worry about getting
the necessary education requirements or having health insurance, if my only
worry was tapping keys, researching sites, and reading books, what could I
possibly contribute?
Well,
there is always tutoring and volunteering. My time would be best spent
explaining Shakespeare to high school kids, illustrating the metaphors in
nursery rhymes for elementary schools kids, or helping middle school kids
traverse the lingo in a textbook. Adult literacy. Senior reading groups. College
level editing guidance. Or, >gasp<, running a non-profit book store of my
own, with a for-profit business on the side. Resumes. Complaint letters.
Editorial essays. Wording an obituary. Strategically phrased formal request.
Heaven
help us all, writers are fucking useful.
Except
when you keep them useless.