live. work. dream.

It wasn’t the work that did me in. It was the fact that I cannot be part of an organization that does not value the Individual.

From high school to my first office job at an insurance company, large impersonal institutions and I just never got along. Had I remembered this before I decided to work at Satan’s Castle, I could have spared myself some grief (and been in a warmer climate by now).

Last week we were supposed to start 12 hour shifts, but instead, almost every day, we got sent home after just a few hours of work. “The volume isn’t there,” said the outbound shipping department manager. Soon it became clear that the long hours and overtime Satan used as bait wasn’t going to materialize. His cheerleaders have been hitting the airwaves on NPR and CNBC, yet things have been very, very slow for us here at the Nevada warehouse.

With each shift cut short, I wondered if I was going to be able to cover the cost of December’s rent at the RV park. My patience was wearing thin.

Even more frustrating was that I just learned via Workamper that the lower-paid cogs in Kansas are getting more hours than we are. My theory is that Satan is cutting costs by shifting the bulk of the work to locations that pay less.

The Final Ingredients

Sunday morning, one of Satan’s minions walked up to me with a clipboard in hand. She was one of the nicer ones, who actually tried to remember workers’ names. The first thing she said when she saw me was “Rene, you’re going to hate me.”

She put her clipboard on my workstation, and showed me a warning notice that said I wasn’t “making the numbers,” one week into another outbound shipping job I was put on. The warning was based on the volume I processed, just two days into the new job.

I was stunned, because the Agency’s rules state that we have four weeks to get numbers up to that level. Yeah, I knew I was slow during my first few days, but for the last three days, I had consistently “made the numbers.” I couldn’t understand why I was getting a warning based on week-old volume.

The notice stated it was a “Final Warning,” but this was technically my second, because I had been kicked out of my first job for not being a “team player.” Every employee is supposed to receive three warnings before getting fired.

As a final insult, my name was misspelled on the warning.

Satan’s Minion was asking for my signature to acknowledge the warning. But I didn’t, and instead I said to her “They’re full of crap. This is only my second warning, and I was told I have four weeks to get to that production level. Why aren’t they following their own rules?”

The Minion got a distressed look on her face, and then out of nowhere, she started crying.

“I’m so sorry Rene! I hate this job! This is all I do all day long, and I only get fifty cents an hour more than you do! Yesterday I had to fire a 70 year old lady with Parkinson’s because she couldn’t make the numbers. They’re having me fire people after just a few days into training. This place is horrible! I just put in my two week notice because I can’t take it anymore!”

She stood there crying, while I looked on, stunned. She was very pregnant, and said she really needed the money, but she just couldn’t work for a place that treated people like crap.

I felt badly for her, but I was going to stand my ground.

I refused to sign it. I told her “I’m sorry, but I want them to tell me why this is a ‘Final Warning,’ and why I’m being expected to meet Week Four quotas. They’re ignoring their own rules. I won’t sign it, I can’t.”

She agreed it was wrong, and she said she would look into it, but couldn’t promise anything. Then she left, and five minutes later, another minion came by to announce that we all had to go home, two hours into our shift. There wasn’t enough work. “Come back tomorrow,” she yelled to us.

What’s It Worth?

As I clocked out and walked through the metal detector exit, my head was spinning. Could I stand working there for just four more weeks? Could I live with the uncertainty of the hours I was getting, or of being fired any minute without just cause? What if all this agony doesn’t even cover the $400 in rent I had just paid for December?

On my way home, I remembered that the RV park owner had said that if things didn’t work out during the first four days of the month, she would refund the rent and charge me a daily rate. That’s when I knew what I had to do.

I pulled into the park and stopped at the office. I asked the manager if I could take her up on that offer. Thankfully, she did.

I went to the rig, and told Jim what happened.

I won’t work for a company that relies on fear tactics and bullying. Maybe some people can tolerate that kind of environment, but I won’t. I have my self-respect, and cash-crunch or not, know I am worthy of better treatment. Life is too short.

Then I picked up the phone, and made my stand. I called Satan’s Agency to tell them I quit.

Jim is thrilled, and now I feel like a huge anvil has been lifted off my head.

Looking back, I realize that I took this job because I was letting fear rule my life. Almost three years into our sabbatical, our dwindling savings account is telling me that we have to get serious about making money. But instead of buckling down and earnestly working to make our new business venture happen, I opted for what I thought was the quick and easy way out; the false sense of security one gets with a paycheck. What a sham.

Instead of following our dream, I took the paved road to hell, and paid dearly for it.

I’m proud of my little warehouse worker. Just yesterday she vowed not to let it get to her, that she would just do her job the best she could and punch her clock like a good worker bee would.

This morning she apparently stood her ground and told them something completely different, and was then sent home early yet again. We got to walk Wyatt together, and now she’s taking a much deserved nap. It’s good to have Margie home again, but I’ll let her tell the rest of the story.

It sure would be nice to know what happened to all those lucrative overtime hours we heard about though. But then again, I also heard that consumer sales for this Black Friday weekend were up a whopping 0.5% from last year too.

Well, it’s time for that whole Black Friday and Cyber Monday weekend business that’s been keeping the local newspapers fat for the past few weeks. And while on a run with Wyatt around 8:00 a.m. this morning, I noticed one good consumer couple already unloading various stuffed shopping bags from their car. They must have heard, the economy has recovered! But don’t they know there are deals to be had online…

I’m not exactly sure what such a negative connotation as Black Friday has to do with a great day for shopping. But it was certainly dark when Rene climbed on her bike and headed off in the freezing cold this morning to begin her overtime hours at Amazon. And while Wyatt is a handful, the rig is certainly lonely without her.

As long as she gets all those hours the Great Satan has promised her, our stay in Fernley might be worthwhile, and just maybe we’ll be able to afford running the furnace every morning for the next month. So don’t forget … if you plan on shopping online this year, please start here.

And if you’d rather not contribute to the evil Empire, consider this…

Or this…

And don’t forget Fido and Fluffy…

Or those outdoorsy folks on your list…

Or if you’re looking for something bit different for that someone special…

Thank you for your continued support.

First off, my apologies to anyone who is put off by the last few posts I’ve written. Yes, I know I’ve taken on a negative tone, but this blog been one of my main outlets after being treated like a subhuman at Satan’s Castle. Sorry to be a downer, I’m not usually like this. When this gig is over at Christmas, we’ll be back on the road traveling around, and living the Dream part we enjoy so much more.

This Friday, Black Friday, I start 12 hour shifts. This is where the money is, this is why I’m here, and I’m not going to have the energy to write. So you’ll be hearing more from Jim and less from me, except maybe my occasional reports about silly and suprising items I see coming down the conveyor belt. Like these. . . .

Jobs are scarce everywhere you go, and we are all thankful for whatever we can earn right now. But it’s a sad commentary on America’s standard of living, when so many of the working poor I’ve talked to consider Satan’s pay rate to be pretty good ($11.50/hr).

I’m not sure why, because when I look back at the the last 20 years of my working life, I see that in real wages I’m actually earning way less than I was back in the late ’80s.

In 1988, I worked at a mannequin factory, painting faces in the art department. I was paid $8.00/hr. Then, in 1989 – 1991, I made roughly $16.00/hr putting myself through college while working for an insurance company. I thought my standard of living would only go up from there, but when I finally got my degree in ‘92, jobs were scarce. So I became a coffee barista and waited tables, and made around $9.00/hr plus tips. I was barely  able to survive on that in San Francisco, but I did.

Seventeen years later, this job is paying me slightly over what I made in ‘92, yet that wage is supposed to be considered good? How can that be? Certainly I’m not paying the same for food, fuel, etc., that I was back then. I’m just banking on the overtime that’s supposed to kick in this week after Black Friday, which is why I took this gig.

As the cost of living climbs, real wages keep sinking for those at the bottom. I’m so outraged that there is such a ridiculous, embarrasing disparity in this country between the rich and working poor (which, if you’re not already, you could be, very easily). Meanwhile, the Wall Street billionaires keep making obscene profits, and taking our tax money to bail their companies out. Can’t you hear them laughing?

I worked my first 10 hour day at Satan’s Castle today, so I’m beat, but I just wanted to share this little survival trick I discovered; how to get what you really want from Satan. Here it is:

If you don’t like what you’re doing at The Great Satan, then just suck at that job and throw some attitude in there for good measure.

Don’t worry, you won’t get fired right away. See, Satan gives his minions about a week to get up to snuff on the job they are assigned to. If He doesn’t think you cut it there, he gets his servants to move you to another job within the department. All under the guise of “doing everything to help you succeed.”

Now, don’t go thinking that Satan’s being nice or anything. He just wants to get the most out of his pre-hire investment in you (i.e, drug test, criminal background check, and all-day orientation) before he kicks you off his team. You get about 2 weeks to prove you’re worthy.

In my case, I was probably a little too obvious in expressing my feelings about the poor way that my unit manager treated her underlings. She didn’t like that. She also didn’t like that fact that I really sucked at handling pallet jacks and lifting 30 pounds 100 times a day.  So today, I got the ax. Yeay!

But Satan’s giving me another chance. I got moved to a different job in Outbound Shipping, which I actually kind of enjoy. I box up single orders of books. I don’t get grimy and dirty, and my new manager doesn’t scream her workers on the hour. The work is fast paced, and the rythmic way you approach the task is similar to knitting, except it’s not relaxing.

The only pressure I’m under in this new job is “making the numbers.” This week I”m supposed to box up 160 single orders per hour. In two weeks, I have to be at almost twice that in order to keep my job for the duration. I ended my first day at 136 per hour. Don’t ask me how I’ll meet the post-Thanksgiving quota, it really does seem impossible.

But I’ll try. Because we’re here, this new job isn’t as bad as the last, and I’m a cheap bastardette who wants more money.

The things I’ll do for a buck.

Let’s get one thing straight; I am not afraid of hard work. In past lives I’ve been a waitress, a housekeeper, a barista, and even worked in a data-entry sweat shop. When I was a kid I cleaned my neighbor’s house, washed cars and sold avocados in the neighborhood, just to make extra money.

So when I took this job at the factory of the Great Satan*, I knew the work was going to be hard. And it has. Still, I really don’t mind the fact that this job involves working Lucy-style (sans cute uniforms) on a conveyor belt line, moving huge bins of cheap plastic crap around with my arms and pallet jacks. Every day is a physical wipeout, but I still ride my bike to work to energize me in the morning, and burn off steam at night.

But what’s really pissing me off about this gig is the lousy way the workers get treated by the temp agency that runs the show for Satan (in fact, almost everyone who works at the factory is a temp; Satan outsources just about every job). We are talked down to, lied to, given no consideration or respect whatsoever. Everyone lives in fear of individual job production quotas, and management reminds you on the hour if you’re meeting them or not.

In the early 90s when jobs were scarce, I played “The Temp” in offices around San Francisco. Back then, I thought I was treated like crap. But this recession is so much worse, and it seems that with so many out of work people, temp agencies are exploiting the situation like never before. At least this one is. I can’t ever recall being treated with such disrespect by an employer.

I keep telling myself; stick it out, this gig is only temporary. I thank Dog I have the resources to move on after 12/23.

*About “the Great Satan” . . . apparently I signed a Non Disclosure Agreement that bans me from badmouthing this certain company. Well, I’m not sure if I signed or not, there were so many forms when I got hired, so to play it safe, from here on out my new boss is going to be known as The Great Satan.

Working at The Great Satan for the past two days has given me a front row view of our economy. As a self-employed person without any co-workers, or mouths to feed, I’ve been so isolated from the realities of what people are faced with right now. It’s scary. People. Are. Hurting.

I work with a Mom who puts in a full day at the Great Satan, then walks over to HellMart to work, because she can’t feed her family on HellMart’s generous $8.25 an hour. Another woman I work with is an EMT in real life. A guy in my department took the job despite a 30 mile commute, because the hardware store he used to work for laid him off. Another gal I spoke with has been out of work since April of ‘08, after getting laid off from CitiBank. There are people so overqualified for this work, it’s insane. I feel so humbled and fortunate to be there by choice.

Meanwhile, management plays shuffeboard with the worker bees’ lives. The group I was hired in with got our hours changed, and our job roles too. They told us on our first day; we could live with it, or leave. There’s a thousand more behind us.

Everyone is calling this a recession, but this is more like a depression. I look around that warehouse, and so many people appear exhausted.

As I stood there doing my job today, I saw thousands of expensive gadgets and gizmos pass before me. With each new order, I kept wondering; who’s buying this stuff?

My last week of freedom came and went too quickly. On Sunday, I start working my fulltime shift at The Great Satan.

Last Monday I attended a day-long orientation with 100 other wanna- be temp workers. It’s been 17 years since I had to do “teambuilding” and mindless repetition of training exercises to impress some manager.

Back in college, I worked for a regional office of Allstate Insurance with 1,000 other worker bees. Being subjected to the rigid structure and narrowly defined roles of corporate America was my impetus for finishing college. I never, ever wanted to be a cog in that machine.

At the orientation, we got a talk by the chief of Satan’s security at the warehouse. He discussed things like employee theft, and how to be on guard for scary threats and potential violence by co-workers. That was when I realized that it had been a long time since I worked for a huge company, with so many stressed out and unpredictable workers. The office shooting in Orlando today just drove home the point. At my last job in corporate America (circa 1991), workplace violence just wasn’t on the radar.

I really like being self-employed and working with just my hubby. Not only am I immune from a lot of things like flu viruses, but crazy people too, at least while I’m working.

Today I was in HellMart, and overheard Christmas carols on the P.A. Seems that our society is bypassing Thanksgiving altogether this year and heading straight for the big one. I’m conflicted about this. On the one hand, I really hate holiday consumerism and plan on banning the Christmas orgy once again.

On the other, I really, really want you guys to buy a lot of stuff from Satan, so I can have more overtime!

A few people have been surprised to learn that we came to Nevada because I took a job for The Great Satan*. Yes, a J.O.B. It’s true; I’m working for the man again. I’m another cog in the machine. Punching a clock, drooling over that carrot they dangle over our heads called a “paycheck.”

A few months ago thanks to our friends at NuRVers, I learned about the seasonal job opportunities available at Great Satan locations around the country. Everywhere from Delaware to Las Vegas, thousands of little elves spring up out of nowhere and take over the company’s million-square foot warehouses to fulfill all of those holiday season orders for consumers.

The hours are grueling and so is the work. But the money is great and I’m really thankful to have this opportunity during such an awful economy.

Originally we were going to Kansas,where most fulltime RVing workampers go. But a few weeks ago, thanks to Jenn at HiTek Homeless, I learned about the Satan gig in Fernley, Nevada, just outside of Reno and south of the road to Burning Man. So we pointed West instead of East, and will be here until Christmas.

I’ll be punching a clock, while Jim stays home to run our Internet endeavors and babysit Wyatt the Wild Dawg. Tomorrow is my employee orientation, and then I start working ten-hour days next week.

Meanwhile, as all of you consider your holiday purchases this year, remember all of the bargains that Satan has to offer! And when you shop, please help us out by starting here with our link, so we can get an additional cut on the action!

*Recently I was told that I signed a Non-Disclosure Agreement which stated I cannot disclose anything about the Great Satan’s company or work conditions. Therefore, the real name of this company has been changed in all blog posts.