101 things I’ve done (and do) at 2.89 an hour…


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1. Carried cases of beer for myself,three high, through a crowd.

2. Cleaned for an entire shift: snow storm.

3. I claim all my tips. No one will give you an apartment or credit if you don’t show income.

4. Forced to “close the bar” and to pay the sitter for overnight hours. I finish the day up about 30 dollars. This was my “money shift”.

5. Served the manager drinks while I do his job.

6. Moved full kegs. Many, many full kegs and Co2 canisters (they’re as tall as I am).

7. I listen to people when they’re sad, which happens a lot when people rely on alcohol to manage their stress and emotions. Listening and empathizing is often part of the job.

8. Inventoried and processed liquor orders.

9. Restocked an entire bar. Every shift.

10. “Cashed out” an entire waitstaff. Most shifts. Not in my job description.

11. Accepted Crumpled up money thrown over the bar onto the floor as a tip.

12. Customer says he’s a “producer”. Asks me to turn around and see my “rear” in not so polite terms before he orders. I neither do nor say anything.

13. Manager brags about running a “brothel / escort service” in college. I do nothing.

14. Busy day at the bar. Customer grabs drinks over the fruit tray, smashing it. I get gashes across my knuckles and bleed everywhere. No one asks if I am okay. I tape them and keep working.

15. I cut off a customer who has arrived drunk from another venue. He pees on the “service area” of the bar.

16. Man grabs my arm, I twist away and scowl, but otherwise do nothing.

17. Owner grabs me forcefully by the back of the neck to show me where a switch is. I don’t tell him that’s not my part of my job. I do nothing.

18. Owner splits up my tips. Strangely, I leave with less than when I counted it two hours before. When I make a fuss, they cut my shifts.

19. Manager tells me I’ll get a great recommendation if I quit. I do not sign the paper he hands me, knowing I might need unemployment. My son is about 2 years old.

20. I close the bar by myself, at 3 AM. I put the cash in the safe, and set the alarm. Every shift. No extra pay.

21. There are many rubber floor mats here. They are all very heavy and about 6’ by 3’. I carry all of them, covered in filth, to the kitchen, where I clean them myself. Every shift.

22. I tear my rotator cuff setting up the bar. An accident. I do nothing. I don’t have health insurance. It still hurts occasionally, years later.

23. You can still smoke in bars. I clean stacks of ashtrays, some with gum. There are maybe thirty of them.

24. I roll silverware. Enough to fill about a dozen shoeboxes.

25. I pay a sitter ten dollars an hour, so when I get to work, I’m already at least sixty dollars in the hole.

26. On my feet all night. I close the bar at 3 am and get up to feed my son at 6 a.m.

27. When people say “You’re too smart for this job. Why don’t you go back to school?”, I think, “What makes you think I haven’t?” but say nothing.

28. I memorize customers drink orders on the fly. I’m pretty good. I can remember groups of about 8-10 at a time, depending on how busy it is.

29. Manager tells me I had a really great sales day. Like, the best of the past few weeks. Feeling good, but don’t get a raise or bonus.

30. The “Service Bar” tape is going crazy. I make pitchers of margaritas hand over fist for hours. The servers only tip us out maybe 10-15 dollars a piece. They make 2.89 an hour too. We have to tip out barbacks 15-20% to keep them happy. We tip out the bussers and expediters as well. Tips are stretched thin.

31. I run Keno slips. No one tips me on those unless they win, which is not frequent. It makes a lot of money for the bar, as I understand. It’s time consuming and makes me no money and takes away from my service.

Tipped Minimum Wage Press Conference

32. I wash dishes. A lot of dishes. I scrub lipstick from glasses.

33. I wear a uniform that is sexually degrading. It’s a “referee” outfit that says “#69” on it. I make good money here, so I do it anyway, even though it embarrasses me. I can’t bend over without exposing my underwear. This is a new “uniform” and wasn’t what I signed up for.

34. Senior bartender tells me I’m shit, and I cry. I don’t know what to do. People are yelling at me. I’m only 19. Women (and servers in general) are forced to be competitive in this environment.

35. I get burned expediting food. It’s my own fault, I think. Even though the manager practically threw the plate at me.

36. Underage waitress comes into the restaurant and is physically and verbally abusive to me, because she is drunk. I complain. She’s friendly with management. They make her a bartender. I have to find another job; this is ridiculous.

37. I book the shows, and live bands for the nights I work. It brings in a little crowd on an otherwise dead night. I get no extra pay for this.

38. I listen to my boss, the owner, talk about how upset they are about their personal life even though it’s really inappropriate.

39. I make “bar food”. We have a mini-fryer and a pizza oven. I’m a bartender-cook now, I guess. Maybe we’ll make more tips. I hope. We get no extra pay.

40. Every week, I do a “deep clean” on my slow shift. I pull out the keg coolers and mop and sweep behind them, I take out every single beer from every cooler behind the bar. Clean every shelf. Anything that can be touched by human hands, I spray cleaner on. It helps pass the time. No one comes here when it rains, except for a few friends. I will break even today.

41. I slice bags upon bags of lemons and limes for the bartender following me. It takes a long time. We help each other out.

42. I come into work, even though I’m really sick. My manager says it’s my job to cover my shifts.

43. I pick up an extra shift, Yay! The manager just phoned me. Someone just called out. I guess in some special cases the manager will find shift covers.

44. We’re open every day, rain or shine. Everything is closed in the “blizzard”, I’ll walk the two miles, I like hiking and snow. Maybe it’ll be fun, even though I won’t make any money.

45. I have an abusive relationship with a co-worker. I get fired a few months after asserting that I feel threatened. He does not.

46. There is a refrigerator for condiments that needs restocking. I refill ramekins of mayonnaise, and other sides. It takes me about 20 minutes. One of my many chores. Part of the job is helping out. The servers need these things ready for the next shift.

47. I refuse to wear a t-shirt that says “Check Out My Rack”. That’s not a funny joke to me. I’m getting tired of this.

48. I’m not receptive to a customer’s vulgar come-on. He calls me a “dyke”, and I walk away, otherwise doing nothing.

49. Customer says, “How much for a smile?” I squeeze out a grin even though it’s the tenth time I’ve heard that this week, and it’s not funny anymore. It makes me feel dirty. I’m not smiling because I had to push my way through a crowd to get to you. I am 20.

50. I get a really big tip. I’m psyched, because we were overstaffed this week, and rent is almost due.

51. Customer repeatedly orders a “Smirnoff and Vodka”. I try and clarify because that’s not an actual drink order and customer calls me a “(expletive) idiot”. I brush it off.

52. Not a lot of tips because I’m working a “techno night” where everyone is high on “party drugs” and drinks 5 dollar bottled water all night. I restock the cases of water.

53. I get fired for refusing to work a show in conflict with my personal beliefs against racism and homophobia. The owner says it’s a “no-show” even though I told him far in advance.

54. Not trying to insult me, a customer says, “You must love this job. It’s so easy.” People who have never done it don’t really know what it’s like, or how little they have to pay us. I wish it was just chatting and being friendly; that would be great.

55. I keep a few babysitters, and family members on “standby” for childcare. I don’t know what my schedule is going to be, and I can’t say no to a shift, or I get a warning or suspension. Say no multiple times, and you get fired. I can’t afford that.

56. I buy my own uniforms.

57. I hide my superior’s drug use.

58. I memorize the daily specials, and push for extra sales. We have meetings about “up-selling”, and I’m generally pretty good at it.

59. I make just enough money to still qualify for SNAP, or food stamps, because the cost of living is so high in the city of Providence. My rent consumes about 70% -90% of my income, sometimes more, in the years I live here. I borrow money. I get roommates. My family helps me. What do other people do to get by?

60. I can’t afford a car. I walk to work. Providence is a great walking city.

61. My co-workers and I hang out after work. We vent and swap stories. Camaraderie really seems to get us through tougher shifts.

62. I set up sound equipment for the music tonight. I do not get extra pay.

63. I work well into my pregnancy. The comments about my body (some from superiors) really upset me and I say nothing.

64. I have morning sickness, and run to the bathroom frequently during my shift. Not sure if I’ll make any money tonight. Not sure what I’m supposed to do.

65. I think about one of my favorite elementary school teachers. She waited tables on the weekend, and was a lovely, intelligent woman. I think about her especially when people say things like “Stupid people are stuck waiting tables”, or when people insult my intelligence for being a server.

66. I carry 16 gallons of orange juice down two flights of stairs.

67. Stood on a ladder and dusted cobwebs. I am in my ninth month of pregnancy.

68. A dishwasher quit mid shift so I washed all the dishes in the restaurant.
No extra pay.

69. I worked for 55 hours in one week and was only paid for 39.5 hours because my boss didn’t want to pay time and a half (it would have still only been $4.36 an hour before taxes).

70. A coworker sexually harassed me in front of a crowd of people.

71. I was called a “retard”.

72. I was called a “cunt”.

73. I was told to “(expletive) off”.

74. Served a patron who had his penis out of his pants during moments of his
meal.

75. I worked holidays, my child’s birthday, my birthday, and every
mother’s day.

76. I was sexually harassed and propositioned by friends of my superiors.

77. I was told if I didn’t like it to “get a real job” when I asked for more
than 2.89 an hour.

77. Since becoming an advocate, I’ve been told by strangers that poor people like
me should just die.

78. The air conditioning breaks at work. It’s over 90 degrees in here.

79. No lunch break, ever.

80. I pulled a muscle while lifting a heavy bus bucket. Kept working.

81. Slipped on butter and smashed my face into the tile floor. Finished my shift with a bloody nose.

82. Came into work to cover someone else while having contractions from pregnancy.

83. Turned down unsolicited dates, while smiling, and still doing my job.

84. Wouldn’t let patrons in after close. Got called a “bitch” for doing my job.

85. Been a full-time student and made the Dean’s List. People still assume I’m lazy and uneducated.

86. Cleaned a rotting mouse out of a sticky trap behind my bar. Got told, “Clean it yourself.”

87. Got left drugs as a tip. I don’t do drugs.

88. I was forced to pay for tabs that were walked out on, even though I was told not to take credit cards as collateral on lunch shifts.

89. Had a drink thrown at me by a customer who had had enough to drink and was cut off.

90. Broke up a fight. Held a towel over the bleeding man’s forehead.

91. Used my personal time to promote for the business that employed me.

92. Too busy to take a break, and we’re not allowed to eat behind the bar, so I eat my food cold at close to last call. I got here at 11 AM, so I’m desperately hungry.

93. Spent my own money at the business that employs me. I’m a customer, too.

94. During the lunch shift, a customer (a doctor) says, “See, a girl like her is good girlfriend material.. busy and grateful. Wouldn’t get in the way of the wife.” Like I wasn’t even in the room. I did nothing.

95. Re-organized the walk-in and made sure nothing was past code or spoiled.

96. Didn’t fake sick to get out of work, but couldn’t get time off for being sick even if I was. I try to never miss work.

97. I don’t like karaoke. But when I worked a karaoke night, I did it anyway to give the customers a good laugh.

98. Danced with one of my customers on his birthday. We have become good friends, and we both like jazz.

99. Struggled to pay my bills. Though I’m thankful for my customers, I wish they knew how their tip really pays my hourly wage for my boss.

100. A family member died this week. I go to work and tell no one how upset I am. We’re supposed to “keep that shit at home”.

101. I met a lot of wonderful people, hard-workers, and friends at work. I think we deserve to make at least minimum wage. But we don’t. Our labor is paid $2.89 an hour.

Blizzard not a day off for low-wage chain store employee


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photo (c) Melody Lee O'Brien
(c)2015 Melody Lee O’Brien

Robin is an employee of a chain pharmacy here in Rhode Island who was required to work during Tuesday’s blizzard, from 11am to 7pm, or risk losing her full-time status. To protect Robin, I changed her name and won’t mention the name of the store.

She lives about a 15 minute walk away from the store at which she works. She doesn’t own a car, but sometimes her boyfriend might drop her off or pick her up. But of course, on Tuesday morning the streets were impassable by car or by foot. So her manager asked her to grab a shovel and dig her way to work through the snow.

“The manager wanted us to be at the store and wait for the pharmacist to open,” she told me. “He wanted us to shovel our way into work.”

The manager, who worked from home, wanted the store opened at 8am. To her credit, Robin told her manager that his plan “wasn’t happening.” The manager contacted the plow company and got the parking lot cleared. By that time the streets were plowed enough for Robin to walk to work. Her 15 minute walk took about 40 minutes.

“It was miserable,” Robin said, “and absolutely dangerous. There were plows everywhere and the sidewalks weren’t shoveled. I could have had my boyfriend drive me, but there was driving ban and I’m not on the exempt list.”

In Governor Gina Raimondo’s Executive Order restricting motor vehicle travel throughout Rhode Island, health care and pharmacy workers were exempted from the ban.

“I’m technically not a pharmacy worker,” said Robin, adding that in her opinion she, “could have been arrested.”

It turns out that the chain pharmacy corporation is quite clear with the employees as to who is a pharmacist and who isn’t. There are all sorts of rules governing the operation of the pharmacy, keeping it distinct from the operation at the front of the store. Of course, a case could be made that the front of the store operation was providing “critical services to the public,” and therefore be exempt from the governor’s order in much the same way as might a grocery store or hardware store, and I doubt any police officer would have bothered to arrest Robin if she told them she was on her way to her job at the chain pharmacy. But just as Robin isn’t a pharmacist, she’s also not a lawyer. And she can’t afford to risk a ticket she can’t pay.

(c)2015 Karen McAninch
(c)2015 Karen McAninch

It wasn’t a busy day, of course. The majority of Rhode Islanders were doing what Robin’s manager was doing: staying home and waiting for the storm to be over. “I must have gotten a hundred phone calls asking if we were open,” said Robin, “but by the time we closed at 7pm we maybe had 20 customers in all.” The customers were looking for chips, candy, soft drinks and other junk foods.

The pharmacist didn’t have a single customer all day.

After closing, Robin walked home. The blizzard had abated somewhat, but the snow was still coming down and the wind was still kicking up powdery snow. “The roads were a little better, but it was still freezing and slippery,” Robin told me. Of course now it was dark, and the plows were still out and the sidewalks still needed shoveling, so Robin was walking in the street again. She finally arrive home at around 8pm.

For her trouble Robin made about $72 on Tuesday, before taxes and insurance. I asked her if the experience was worth the money. Her answer was blunt.

“No. It was uncalled for,” Robin said, noting her co-workers felt the same way. “No one was happy. We were all extremely disappointed that no one cared about our safety.

Robin

(c)2015 Karen McAninch
(c)2015 Karen McAninch

Robin is in her early twenties and has worked at the chain pharmacy store for about four years. In December of last year she was making $8.75 an hour but when the minimum wage was increased to $9 in January, she found herself making 25 cents an hour more, the same as all the new hires. Robin has a high school diploma, and no college.

She lives with her boyfriend, and they split the rent and utilities, though he makes slightly more than she does. Because she and her boyfriend combined make enough to eke by, she considers herself middle class, but if she were on her own she wouldn’t be able to afford the rent on her apartment and would be poor.

“I can’t afford to live on my own,” she told me. Robin has worked since she was 16 and has never been on any kind of public assistance.

Because Robin is technically a full time employee, she is entitled to healthcare under the rules established by the chain pharmacy corporation. The cost of the healthcare is about 25 percent of her take home pay when she works 40 hours a week, but since the new year began all employees have had their hours cut and Robin’s been averaging 30 hours a week, if she’s “lucky.” 30 hours is the minimum amount she has to maintain to keep her full time status and her healthcare.

The technical title for Robin’s job is “Customer Service Representative” and her duties include helping customers locate items in the store, running the register and restocking shelves. When new people are hired their training technically is the responsibility of the store manager or a shift supervisor, but often the training falls on Robin, due to her four years of experience.

I asked Robin if she likes her job.

“No, not really,” she replied, “but I like some of my co-workers, especially the people who were there when I started. I love them.”

(c)2015 Ayako Takase
(c)2015 Ayako Takase

Some of Robin’s complaints about her boss are perhaps typical. “He’s not very shy about letting you know that he’s not fond of you. He micromanages and he doesn’t recognize good work. He only tells you when you’re doing a bad job.”

Others are indictments of the company’s business model. “He cut everybody’s hours down so that pretty much everybody is at part time. Then he hired a bunch of new people and we’re all fighting for hours.”

Some say if low wage workers don’t like their jobs, they should find jobs that pay more, or get an education and find better jobs. So I decided to ask Robin why she doesn’t do these things.

“It’s not as easy as you might think it is,” she answered. “I don’t have a great education, I don’t have transportation… I know it’s possible, I can go back to school, but people think it’s so easy to go back to school. Get loans. Get grants. But it’s a lot of hours and a lot of work and I’d have to cut down hours at my current job and I’d have less money. Plus I’d be paying for school.”

I asked Robin if she thinks the minimum wage should be raised to a living wage, like $15 an hour. Her answer shouldn’t have surprised me, but it did. “I know that there’s a lot of things that come with an increase in minimum wage. When you increase minimum wage, other things increase as well.”

I told her that a study just came out from UMass Amherst that purports to show that the price increases of goods in the event of an increase in the minimum wage would be modest.

Robin had never heard of this study, which is unsurprising, given the sparse media coverage given to economic reports that play against conservative business interests. Instead, she was parroting the accepted “wisdom,” a narrative that conveniently prevents employees from demanding fair and just compensation for their work.

Robin does think that there should be a law mandating double time for hourly employees who are forced to work during official declarations of disaster. Being paid fairly would help make her feel more appreciated. “This sounds a little selfish, I guess,” said Robin, “but if I were getting something extra, I’d be more willing to be there, and I wouldn’t be so upset and disappointed with my job.”

 

Patreon

Dear RI: Where’s the Work?


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For those who have never had a day of unemployment that they did not choose, there are no words which can describe the state. For those who, like me, have, you know the feelings. You know the self-loathing, the worthlessness, the despondence, the anger. But most of all, the fear. There is a special terror reserved for the jobless, a dark vicious terror that constantly lurks in the back of one’s mind. It is the terror that the bills will catch up with you. The terror that this may not be temporary, that you may never work again. That it will catch you, and in the end, kill you. And you carry that with you for months.

The job hunt is nearly as disheartening. Each letter sent out is a gamble, each interview a risk. Plenty will offer you tips, plenty will suggest you talk to so-and-so, plenty will say “perhaps if you tried here.” And you force yourself to nod, because you think to yourself, “I have done all of that already,” but you do not wish to get into a fight. But no one will treat you with respect; be it the callous souls who tell you, even in the midst of the worst economic catastrophe since the Great Depression, to “get a job,” or the people whom you are applying for a job with. You will be left on the line for weeks, sometimes without ever getting a response telling you someone else has been hired. Alternatively, they will send you some of the cruelest words in the English language, “thank you for your interest…”

I have sympathy for employers; it is not easy to pull the trigger and tell the job-seeker they will not be hired. But I have no sympathy for the politician who sees the suffering of their policies and yet continues with their madness. The politician says that they have imposed their policies so cities and towns “will get their fiscal house in order.” But they have not imposed fiscal order; they have imposed pain and suffering. Tell the victims of these policies that the political leadership has brought fiscal order. Tell the family who has abandoned their home and is living in their car because property taxes went too high, or the landlord forced to raise rents on tenants they know cannot afford it. Tell the vast majority of the people of this state who pay taxes at a rate nearly twice that of those who can most-afford it that we are bringing fiscal order. Our political leadership has a perverse definition of “order”.

Where’s the work that was promised? I was fortunate enough that I could work for free as a volunteer while I searched for a job. Most are not that lucky. They languish, in trouble, waiting for work that will end their weariness and replace it with accomplishment. Through this hell that has been imposed, they march onwards, driven by the idea of hope, our state motto. The motto so sacred to Rhode Islanders that we placed it on our flag so that it might symbolize us. The Statehouse should be the house that hope built. Instead, it is hope’s marble mausoleum.

The party in power names itself “democratic”. Perhaps they need a lesson in democracy. The word means the people rule. The people. Not the Speaker of the House nor the President of the Senate. If the representatives of the people delivers a bill, “democracy” means the leadership must consider it and bring it to vote by those same representatives, not hold it for further study, their epithet for saying they have killed it. This means that if the people cry out for fairness in our taxes, you cannot dismiss this cry as not having a chance. The people get to decide that, too.

But our “leadership” tells us that we must wait, that the tax policies they enacted six years ago during good times have not yet had their full effect. And yet, our unemployment rate has risen back to 11%, while the rest of the nation sees declines. Our “leadership” tells us we must not tax job creators, while the state loses the very jobs we are asking the creators to create. Our “leadership” tells us business favors tax consistency, but only if that consistency is going down. Our “leadership” tells us they want Rhode Island to be a place where anyone can live, but their policies force cities and towns to raise property taxes so high no one can live here.

I say this as a Rhode Islander. I say this as someone who only recently found a job in this state after nearly a year of trying, and I was not confining myself to only the state. I looked beyond our borders reluctantly, because deep in my heart, I know there is truly no other state for me. I am not ashamed or abashed to say I love Rhode Island, in all its oddities. I do not believe any true Rhode Islander can contemplate fleeing this state without any regret or sadness. And yet, that contemplation has been very real to me. And it is real to the thousands of Rhode Islanders who remain without work, many who have been searching longer than I have, many of whom are more deserving then I am.

There are those who will despise me for what I’ve written here. They will attack me, perhaps call me a demagogue. They will find fault with whatever I say, and seek to undermine my reputation. I do not care about my reputation though, I care about Rhode Island. The naysayers will point to our 11% unemployment rate and deride the citizens of this state as stupid for not abandoning it. They will insult the place of my birth, and me, not knowing or comprehending that the reason the unemployed stay is because as much as circumstances prevent them, they also have hope. They believe in this state. The naysayers look at an idea and say “we cannot do this,” and they will find such and such a reason to stop it. But those with hope will look at an idea and say, “how can we make this work” and search for ways until they have exhausted all possibilities.

Ship Building

We want to make our state work. We want to rebuild this state with our own sweat. We are not asking the politicians in the government to break a sweat, we will do that. We will work the hours, we will do the labor. We ask merely that the politicians on Smith Hill have the decency to relieve the pressures that prevent us from doing so, that they reverse their mistaken policies and free the people of this state to work. That they keep those already working employed. That they enforce policies that actually will bring the idle gainful work. That they take no more from those who have already sacrificed too much.

There is a dividing line between people. On one side are those who do not love this state, who cannot imagine a way out of this crisis, who call for it to be abandoned or else denigrate its people and its government. On the other are those who wish to give their lives for this state, who wish to improve it, who see its possibilities even in the midsts of its failures. I ask the leaders of this state to be the leaders that we know they can be, and lead this state to greatness. Where’s the work? It is before us.