The Garbage Woman continued; “When Crips were introduced into the workplace, they made a lot of people uncomfortable. There were a LOT more of them than anybody thought, and it was thought that it’d be better for everyone involved if there was a place for them out of the way.”
“Crisp?”
“Crips. Crippled.”
“Oh. Ohhhhhhh...” The Girl had heard the term bandied about, and hadn’t made the connection until now.
“The only reason they sponsored Crips was because they were certain that they’d just laze about and fritz away everybody’s valuable time. Turns out that when given the chance to work, they’re one of the hardest working people available. But that didn’t stop employees and employers from trying to discourage their numbers by spreading rumours that these Crips weren’t as reliable as non-Crips.”
The Girl took a moment to digest this. “So, rather than make the best of what they had available, they sought out ways to make things as uncomfortable for us as humanly possible without actually going into physical abuse?”
“No, it was clearly because we’re not fully motivated, and need to be constantly reprimanded, otherwise, we’d fall back into our old bad habits. If the Factory wasn’t around, Crips would just wind up wasting more time and energy than if left alone. It’s the Factory that gives us purpose, and we need to prove our worth on a continuous daily basis.”
“That doesn’t sound very pleasant.”
“You’re not supposed to like work. That’s why it’s called ‘work’ and not ‘play’. It’s better that we’re kept busy. People with too much time on their hands can be dangerous.”
This conversation had quickly veered from workplace-bashing into uncomfortable territory, and the Girl was looking for an out, her eyes darting about in multiple directions until they settled on her payment. “This is fascinating, but I have a debt to settle.”
“I’ll be waiting.” Even though the Girl’s workday was over, the Garbage Woman’s was not. She still had numerous side jobs to complete, all for the sake of her reputation. Despite the disability benefits, she still had to work three times as hard to earn the same amount a normal person would get for half the time. She didn’t begrudge the Factory’s rationale, since she was only paid what she was truly worth.
At the Café, the Patron was currently busy with the customers, trying to discourage them from making sandwiches out of the complimentary crackers. Filling them up with bread before the food arrived was a typical diversory tactic so they’d be too full to eat what little meal was on their plates, but there was no point in doing so if they made handy snacks without paying beforehand. He made his rounds, snatching up and relocating the breadbasket, looking for who should and shouldn’t have their appetite spoiled, until upon seeing the Girl, he sauntered off in her direction, not wanting to spoil the customers’ appetite with her presence.
Before the Girl could even make her way inside the Café, the Patron was there to greet her. “Welcome, again. May I introduce you to our fine establishment?” he asked, guiding his arms towards the entrance.
“I’m not here to eat.” she curtly replied. The Girl tried to as stay far away from the Café as possible so she wouldn’t be tempted to buy any foodstuff that would put her further in debt. If she couldn’t knock off the money she owed in one lump sum, she could at least try to stunt the interest rate. “Here. I know it’s not the full amount, but it’s a start.”
The Patron looked at the meagre pay, counted the amount, then tucked the money into his pocket. “Congratulations. You just made it. Any longer, and you would be under the interest rate. I hope you’ll bring a bigger amount tomorrow.”
Ugh. All that work, and it still wasn’t enough? “It took me weeks of savings to earn that much!”
“Well, if you can find time to wander about the City, then you can certainly find time to find money.”
“There’s not much for me to do.” And I’m so tired, she thought, but wasn’t able to vocalize those words. If it were as easy as he claimed, she would’ve been able to scrounge up enough loose change by now. She was about to voice her complaints until an observation intruded her thoughts. “Wait, how long have you been watching me?”
“It’s my job to pay attention to the people around me, before they make their first orders. To not only give them what they want, but what they don’t even know they want. You absolutely sure I can’t offer you anything?” he said with a grin, offering a complimentary cracker.
“Absolutely positive.”
“Worth a shot. As for paying off the remainder of your tab, you’ll just have to find another source of income.”
She groaned. “I’m trying. I’m really trying, but there’s only so much I can do. I even registered for my odor, but it didn’t seem to help much.”
The Patron perked up. “You have a disability claim? May I see it?”
She eyed him suspiciously, reluctantly dug in her bag and handed her copy over. “It’s all there. Proof that I actually smell, and stuff.” She didn’t entirely trust this guy to help her out. Still, she couldn’t help wavering a hint of hope in her voice. “Does that count for anything? Can I help out?”
The Patron pored over the contents. “Not in here, no. This form doesn’t allow for that. It’s for repetitive physical labour in a centralized location. But you might be able to help out in another way.”
From the description alone, it sounded exactly like the requirements needed for dishwashing duty. It seemed even with a subsidy, there was still no guarantee anyone would take advantage of the claim. She cautiously asked, “How exactly would this work?”
The Patron pointed to a microscopic portion of the paper. “See, this clause here requires you to move your hand in a deliberate manner, but it doesn’t specify exactly where you need to stand while doing it.”
This was a necessary clause added due to a long-standing tradition of Factories never outright admitting that they were wrong about anything, ever.
Because of the size and constant changing nature of the Factory, renovations and repairs were a regular feature. They used to force their workers to stand in one specific spot. But that didn’t work out when, because of misreading of floor plans, the workers were situated exactly where the ingredients were supposed to be chopped up. As a result, dozens of employees were killed and maimed until the oversight was corrected. They couldn’t understand why they were bleeding workers so quickly.
Until the conditions were relaxed and workers could move to other locations better suited to their task, the Factory compensated for the loss by changing the label to ‘chunky’ and doubling the price. To this day, there are still customers who long for the “chunky” produce, and are annoyed at their limited one-time release.
The Girl had to take the Patron’s word for it. “And I would be helping out... how?”
“By spreading word about this place. The motion for gutting a fish is remarkably similar to tossing a menu. As long as word about this business continues to spread, your interest rate will be temporarily suspended.”
“But - wouldn’t people recoil away from me?”
“That’s why you’ll be using these.” he said, dumping a bunch of menus over where her lap used to be. “Since you’re wandering around after working hours, you might as well make the most of it.”
There it was again! Giving an answer in the form of additional work! The Foreman already gave that suggestion before. It was their go-to solution to all her problems. Can’t afford your meals? Work harder. Can’t afford to sleep on the streets? Work harder. Can’t get rid of your smell? Work harder. Feeling sick? Work harder. Can’t go to sleep? Work harder. Can’t find a job? Work even harder.
The Girl felt insulted by these words. The unspoken assumption was that if she had so much free time to walk around, then she should at least fill in that time with something worthwhile. Sure, it was true she did that, but that was because there was no meaning in it. If she had to actually do something meaningful, then all the joy would be sucked out of it.
That would make walking a chore, effectively turning her ‘play’ into ‘work’.
No comments:
Post a Comment