So today, I go back, bright and early at 7:40 AM. I was 10 minutes late and got raked over the coals about that. She made a snide remark about it as I was leaving too. I think she likes me because I'm Korean. I have a baby. But on the other hand, she's always so gruff. And little comments she makes, like the tardiness, along with her scowling expression, she actually scares me a bit.
At any rate, I sit down sewing away, a couple of hours go by and all of a sudden. Boom! Spark! An electrical wire bursts right on front of me and all this smoke comes billowing out. At first, I thought, oh how amazing! Got to get a shot of that. Then, I thought, well that's pretty damned dangerous! But everyone just waved the smoke away, just kept on working like there was nothing going on. Later on in the day, I canvassed the factory and the only other exit is a freight elevator that was padlocked. There were wires all over the place, dangling in front of my face, hitting the back of my head. But the strange thing is, once you get used to something, it doesn't seem so bad. I got whacked in the back of my head so many times by dangling wires, thought nothing of it. Saw a fellow worker chomping on a banana with a wire hanging in her face. She just waved it away and kept on eating.
I have a very sweet story. I was getting up a lot, stretching, moving my body, partially because I was stiff but partially because I needed to get B-roll. A little while later a Korean lady (a fellow worker) comes by with a cushion that she had borrowed from someone else and offers it to me. She said, "I noticed you were stretching a lot. I guess you haven't worked long in a factory. When I first started, I always went home with a sore behind. I know what you are going through. It's tough making money, isn't it?" Then she went and got me another cushion too, in case the one she got me wasn't comfortable. It really made me want to hug her. I got all choky. Didn't know what to say. Such kindness! as I was leaving, the owner woman came up to me and said, "Look, I don't normally train people. But I'm going to train you. You're not very good, yet, but in time you will be best friends with your machine and you can do piecework to make more money. For the training period, I'll pay you $4.25 per hour. Just learn quickly, OK? The rate you're going now, you won't even be able to buy milk for your baby. I can't have that. So learn hard. I'll teach you."
Deep down. She is a good woman I think. Makes me feel rather badly actually. So tomorrow. I'm off to quit.
6.20.96
Just got back from a week-long tedious trip to California. In
a way, being out in a strange city gave me real insight into how
overwhelming this experience is. I was not in NY where I knew
every nook and cranny of the city. I was in a strange town, surrounded
by people I didn't know and I could relate to the helplessness
these people must feel. They are from a must feel. There are from
a different country, culture, everything is so alien to them.
The first day (Tuesday) was a journey into the unknown. I had no idea if the places I was going were dangerous. I went into building after building. I tried to get a job, but there were no jobs available. I must have asked 20 different factories for jobs, but to no avail. It's discouraging. The sun is beating down, your clothes stick to your skin. You pound the pavement, yet rejection after rejection. It's enough to make you scream. People give you the once-over. You are not based on your ability. Many of the places were Korean, and they feel they need to pay more for Koreans and they just want to hire Hispanics because they are cheaper labor. It's discouraging.
I go out again on Thursday with a newfound with a newfound vigor. Yet I get turned away place after place. "No work," "bad times," "don't go into this business," "it's not worth it," are some of things I hear. But if one is unskilled and has no other means, what is one to do
I finally find my way to East L.A. Not a particularly great neighborhood. There is a factory with barbed wire, locked gates, high walls. I talk to the owner. He tells me that it's a really bad time in the factories and that I should consider another career.
I go across the street to another factory. From the outside, it really doesn't look like a factory. It looks like an office building of some sort. I go in and plead my case. I need work. The manager gives me the once-over and says that he will give me work trimming. Elated, I agree. Tells me to come back at noon the following day. I am elated. Finally, someone will let me work.
I go back the following day. At noon, as he asked. "Sorry," he says. "I thought I'd have work for you, but I don't. Sorry." I could have found another job. I could have been making money, but I sacrificed it for him. Well, should I come back tomorrow? "I don't know," he says. "But go next door. They are Korean. Maybe they have something for you. But if you don't get anything, come back tomorrow at 7 AM and I will have something for you."
So I go next door. They are Korean. It seems like a clean well-kept factory. I ask for work. The owner and his wife are reluctant to hire me, but they finally do. This was a legitimate shop, sewing Jones of NY. Only thing I do want to mention though is the achy back I had to endure after four hours of constant folding and separation according to size. It was hard work. My feet were swollen. I couldn't feel my legs, my shoulders. It was tight and cramped with a kink. It was unbearable. Even for the $10.00 they paid me per hour.
Next day, I go back. The place is so badly run. I get there and the manager doesn't know what to do with me. He tells me to hang out while he figures out where to put me. Considering I was only going to make 6 cents per piece, I was eager to work. But instead, I found myself loitering around, waiting for something to get thrown my way.
I wait and wait. Finally, the manager, Javier, calls me over to a machine. "Do you think you can do this?" He shows me a machine that sews bias tape on the collar and shoulder seam of a t-shirt. He shows me a couple. I think I can do it. Looks easy enough. I sit down and try, but I'm not very good, obviously having never touched the machine before in my life. He let's me do a couple shirts.
After a while, he comes back to inspect. He doesn't think I did a very good job. So he tells me to start trimming and he will teach me a bit later how to be better on the machines.
So I start trimming, which is basically trimming the loose threads on a finished product. Not exactly precision work. Just snip. Snip. Snip away. Worked on a t-shirt made for "I Can Too," company. RV#66695. It's dreadfully mundane work, Snip, snip, snip. More and more t-shirts get piled up beside me. I was standing at a table for five hours straight just snipping away. No chains. Just a big table as a workstation. No breaks, nothing. Just work, work. My legs were swollen from not moving around and lack of exercise. No one talked, everyone just did their designated tasks. Many were wearing walkmen as they worked.
So I'm working away, minding my own business and a couple of hours go by. All of a sudden I hear a shriek and I turn around. I see a woman pointing at a rat, which had obviously been poisoned or something, it was wriggling and writhing in pain This rat was the size of my forearm, fat as could be and it was just horrific. I couldn't move. The manager saw me with a look of terror on my face and waved at me. "No problem, no problem, get back to work." I turn back to my work station and check the area around me to make sure there no more rats. I don't see any. So I go back to work.
A few minutes later, a man walks by me and something rustles on the ground next to me. I squeal in terror and jump in the air. It's just a piece of cloth! Everyone around me starts laughing at me. Finally, the day is over. The owner and manager come over to me and say, "Starting Monday, we'll teach you on the machines. You can make more money on machines." How much more? I ask. "Depends on the area you are sewing." But 3 cents, 6 cents, 8 cents that doesn't sound like much to me. The owner takes me aside and says, "If you are really fast, you can made up to 2000 pieces a day." I shake my head disbelievingly. "Yes, yes, you can make up to $80 a day. If you're slow maybe 500 pieces a day." I said thanks, but I'm not coming back, I'd like my money please. He takes me into his office and cuts me a check for $10. I say to him, I don't have any papers, so I can't accept a check, I need cash. He points out to the street and says, "Don't worry. The liquor store across the street cashes my checks all the time. Don't worry. Go get it cashed there." As I'm leaving, a woman also goes across the street from his factory and cashes her check. I can't see how much money she has made, but I'm certain it is more than my $10.
*Journal does not appear in its entirety. It has been edited for the web.