What We Post Here
When did America switch from working for reward to working to avoid punishment?
by ahansen
The meat department at Vons hadn’t put the proper bar coding on the goose I had ordered, so the clerk and I had a five-minute wait while the frozen beast was properly inventoried and returned to the check-out stand. The store was eerily devoid of shoppers for a Friday afternoon—especially one before a major party weekend like Halloween. But it was the end of the month, and the town is mostly inhabited by retired civil servants and other people who receive a government check for a living, so I wasn’t all that perplexed by the lack of activity. The one lady in line behind me was cheery and chatty; we didn’t mind the wait, using the time to remark on what we were planting in our winter gardens.
What did catch my attention, however, was the checker’s agitation. He kept glancing first at his watch, then to the back of the store, then up the stairs to the manager’s office. Since my fellow shopper and I weren’t at all hurried, and the store was basically empty of customers, I asked what had him so concerned.
“This is really going to screw with my production numbers,” he said nervously. “They keep track of how fast we process customers through the line, and tally us up at the end of the month. This isn’t going to look good for me at all.”
He continued, “It would be different if we got a reward, or a raise or something for having faster check-throughs, but we don’t. Their machines rule by intimidation.”
I mentioned that surely “corporate” would take into account the fact that business might be cyclical in a small resort town full of seasonal workers and welfare recipients—especially at the end of the month when the summer tourist season is over. But, “No,” he told me. “It’s just more insanity for us to deal with. They pit us against each other and their waiting list of people who don’t mind working part-time. It works.”
In the last year or so, I’ve wondered why there was such turn-over in the store’s long-time employees, many of whom I’ve known by name after years of shopping there. I can’t imagine they’ve all left voluntarily during a period of such economic uncertainty. Lately it seems that every time I go into a familiar market, an entirely new group of people is working there. Now I am beginning to understand why.
When I got home, a rambling, rather plaintive telephone message awaited on my answering machine. A dear friend, now four years from retirement at the Jet Propulsion Laboratory, was recently downsized from the Mars project, and because he’s been identified as a “national asset” was given a consolation position working part time in another related division. Supposedly a 20-hour-a-week slot, he’s slowly driving himself even crazier trying to keep from losing this job too.
He estimates he puts in 60-70 hours a week on lab, often sleeping there in his cubicle or in his car in the parking lot. The poor guy has accumulated literally months of vacation time over the years, but he’s afraid to take any of it for fear that while he’s gone they’ll bring in someone who has been waiting in the wings for a spot on the project. With two kids in college, a cruddy little apartment to call home, and no 401(k) left to speak of, he’s essentially trapped in a job he hates. In what, to my mind, is a sure-fire losing proposition, he’s been trying to keep his sanity by proving Goldbach’s Conjecture in hopes of claiming the monetary prize that would salvage his retirement.
Even my longtime housekeeper—the kind of gem the organizationally-challenged would kill for—is frazzled and worried, as more and more of her clients reluctantly cut back or cancel their contracts due to budget constraints. She finds herself working longer hours at a faster pace just to keep the customers she does have from making the same decision.
With so many of us in danger of becoming unemployed, those who are left increasingly labor under a cloud of threat and intimidation—whether real or implied. Where we used to be motivated by raises, bonuses, options and promotions, our great motivator is now fear. And it’s not just fear of losing a source of income. For those who define themselves by their jobs, the loss of identity is often just as traumatic as the loss of a paycheck. Losing one’s sense of community—waking up one morning to the realization that the comforting familiarity of camaraderie and routine is gone—can be as debilitating a shock to the system as realizing one has just joined the ranks of the impoverished.
As Joni Mitchell once wrote, “…you don’t know what you’ve got till it’s gone….”
Which leads me to my point.
For five years, Ben Jones has, largely through his own tireless efforts and on his own dime, kept this blog online as a real-time archive of our thoughts on what has turned into a global fiasco. Years from now, historians will surely study what’s been written here about these events as they have unfolded, and perhaps will be wise enough to glean from them how to avoid repeating the blunders we’ve made.
Ridiculed and excoriated, even after his prescience has proved correct, Ben has plugged ahead with his chronicle, day after day, week after week, month after month—a latter-day Samuel Pepys recording a daily journal of his own plague years.
As SanDiego RE Bear so eloquently discussed last week, *Comment by San Diego RE Bear 2009-10-29 13:54:26 , HBB is home to a diverse, often impassioned community of contributors who really care about what happens to our Country and its institutions. The forum we have created and fostered here is unique on the internets, both in the caliber of its discourse and the civility in which it is presented.
Our words are read by people whose actions and decisions affect the daily lives of millions of folks around the world. What we post here matters.*
SO SEND THE HBB A BUCK A WEEK.
Surely you get 25 cents worth of enjoyment out of reading through the comments sections at the end of each digest? How many times a year have you come to HBB for information, or entertainment, or just the diversion of a good read? And if you want to see how often you’ve found a safe place to vent your spleen, where people actually take the time to consider what you have to say then give you honest feedback, go to lavi’s site, http://www.inksex.com/ and check out the number of comments you’ve posted to the blog since you joined.
How much have you saved on therapists, real estate attorneys, and unhealthy hobbies since you started reading HBB? More to the point, how much have you saved by NOT buying that overpriced piece of real estate you thought you just had to have; the one that everyone was nagging you to go out on a limb for?
Stop gloating and send in 1% of the money this blog has saved you.
For all of us Cassandras and haters, trolls and curmudgeons, having a place to post our crackpot observations has got to count for something. Where else can we say “I told you so” over and over everyday without someone finally smacking us in the kisser and calling the authorities? If that’s not worth a few bucks, I don’t know what is. HBB is a sanctuary for our collective angst. If the site goes away, you’ll probably want to choke something. Think of the legal fees. Think of the horrible doctor/vet bills you’ll incur. Think of the children— and dig deep, brothers and sisters, for the Good Work.
We may wake up one morning, look out at a beautiful day, put the coffee on to brew, pull up the puter, click on HBB and watch as the screen comes up blank. How discouraging would that be? And I don’t even want to think about turning in for the night without having read through what the cast of characters has had to say about the day’s events.
So c’mon, guys, cough up. Right now. If I can do it, YOU can do it. Surely you can scrounge $10 out of an old sock somewhere? It’s our blog and it’s what we make of it— but only if we chip in every now and then. The PayPal button is up there on your right. Use it.
