In Honor of Those Who Work Too Hard for Too Little
My last post detailed my horrific return to teaching after years of not teaching. After that incident, I decided to cash in my educational retirement money to make ends meet. But it would take months to process and in the meantime, I still needed to make a little money. Even when the retirement money came in, it wasn't much, so I would need to keep some kind of part-time work.
I didn't care what kind of work I did. It didn't have to be anything that reflected my level of education or administrative experience. Work is work, I thought.
One day, I walked into a hotel in Moriarty and asked about front desk positions. I had been a desk clerk before at a hotel in Los Alamos a long long time ago. No, the manager said, they didn't have those positions but they had one "very part-time laundry" opening. It would be weekends, maybe 16-20 hours total.
That sounded perfect! My son worked at the local laundromat and I knew what kind of work that entailed. I was in pretty good shape. I figured this would be the same.
I figured so very very wrong.
The first three days on the job I trained with the weekday laundry person. She was one year older than I and in good shape so I felt even better about it. It felt right. She was a great teacher. She also made things look easy. She spoke little English, I spoke little Spanish but we understood each other.
On Friday, the manager asked her if she thought I was ready to do the weekend laundry on my own. "It's going to be pretty slow," the manager said.
She nodded yes as she worked at the folding table. I felt good.
It wasn't slow the next day. In fact, the hotel had been slammed the night before and there was a lot to do when I walked in. I immediately started to panic. That's what I do. The ladies who clean rooms were calling others to see if they could come in and help. The manager came in to help until noon.
I cried a lot that day as I tried to keep up with things. I won't give you the details but I discovered I am not in any way, shape or form, physically able to do hotel laundry on a busy day. I literally couldn't stand the heat, red faced all day, thinking I was going to pass out. And my fingers, after a while of holding onto thin, thin sheet corners, refused to do it much longer.
Ten hours later, the housekeeping manager told me to go home. She asked if I thought I could do it again the next day. I said I wasn't sure. "Do you think I can do it?"
She said, "Not really but it's up to you."
"Let me sleep on it and see how I feel in the morning," I bravely said. She nodded.
That was my last day at the hotel. Again, I won't go into detail about why I decided not to go in the next day but night-time leg cramps were part of that decision.
I do feel, though, that every experience is something to learn from and this is what I learned from the amazing women I worked with for that short time -- that marginalized populations do a LOT of hard hard work, contributing to our economy, and they do it for next to nothing. They barely eke out a living for their families. The hard work takes a toll on their health.
It is shameful and unkind. We're talking about human beings, not political manipulators. We're talking about people who just want to make it to the next day and perhaps build a better life for their kids, just like most of us.
We're also talking about people who've been punished for crimes committed and don't need to be punished further with low wages for the hard work they do. Seems like we should be doing the opposite.
What I learned at the hotel is that I need to work, through my writing and my blog, on behalf of those who don't have a voice, those who are the victims of an unfair system. That's going to be a learning experience in itself so I'm gonna get started! I'll let you know how it goes as it goes...
In the meantime, I hope you approach each new day with kindness and peace.
I didn't care what kind of work I did. It didn't have to be anything that reflected my level of education or administrative experience. Work is work, I thought.
One day, I walked into a hotel in Moriarty and asked about front desk positions. I had been a desk clerk before at a hotel in Los Alamos a long long time ago. No, the manager said, they didn't have those positions but they had one "very part-time laundry" opening. It would be weekends, maybe 16-20 hours total.
That sounded perfect! My son worked at the local laundromat and I knew what kind of work that entailed. I was in pretty good shape. I figured this would be the same.
I figured so very very wrong.
The first three days on the job I trained with the weekday laundry person. She was one year older than I and in good shape so I felt even better about it. It felt right. She was a great teacher. She also made things look easy. She spoke little English, I spoke little Spanish but we understood each other.
On Friday, the manager asked her if she thought I was ready to do the weekend laundry on my own. "It's going to be pretty slow," the manager said.
She nodded yes as she worked at the folding table. I felt good.
It wasn't slow the next day. In fact, the hotel had been slammed the night before and there was a lot to do when I walked in. I immediately started to panic. That's what I do. The ladies who clean rooms were calling others to see if they could come in and help. The manager came in to help until noon.
I cried a lot that day as I tried to keep up with things. I won't give you the details but I discovered I am not in any way, shape or form, physically able to do hotel laundry on a busy day. I literally couldn't stand the heat, red faced all day, thinking I was going to pass out. And my fingers, after a while of holding onto thin, thin sheet corners, refused to do it much longer.
Ten hours later, the housekeeping manager told me to go home. She asked if I thought I could do it again the next day. I said I wasn't sure. "Do you think I can do it?"
She said, "Not really but it's up to you."
"Let me sleep on it and see how I feel in the morning," I bravely said. She nodded.
That was my last day at the hotel. Again, I won't go into detail about why I decided not to go in the next day but night-time leg cramps were part of that decision.
I do feel, though, that every experience is something to learn from and this is what I learned from the amazing women I worked with for that short time -- that marginalized populations do a LOT of hard hard work, contributing to our economy, and they do it for next to nothing. They barely eke out a living for their families. The hard work takes a toll on their health.
It is shameful and unkind. We're talking about human beings, not political manipulators. We're talking about people who just want to make it to the next day and perhaps build a better life for their kids, just like most of us.
We're also talking about people who've been punished for crimes committed and don't need to be punished further with low wages for the hard work they do. Seems like we should be doing the opposite.
What I learned at the hotel is that I need to work, through my writing and my blog, on behalf of those who don't have a voice, those who are the victims of an unfair system. That's going to be a learning experience in itself so I'm gonna get started! I'll let you know how it goes as it goes...
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