On the Clock: What Low-Wage Work Did to Me and How It Drives America Insane

by Emily Guendelsberger

I sometimes imagine myself in the Crystal Palace, stationed at the lever of that specialized tool that drills forty-five holes in a Model T engine. The job would suck even if I were just pulling the same lever all day. But here, it’s as if half the time the engine needs thirty-eight holes—or fifty-five, or seven—and I have no clue where any other levers are, or if they exist at all. And when you ask around about where the thirty-eight-hole lever is, every single person has a different answer. One will patiently show you where it is. Another will less patiently show you a different thirty-eight-hole lever on the other side of the building. Another will continue to ignore you, making you wonder what about you makes her dislike you so much. Another will show you where the sixteen-hole and twenty-two-hole levers are and how to jerry-rig them together to make thirty-eight holes. Another will roll his eyes and just do it himself. Another, who always seems like he just got back from blowing lines in the bathroom, will treat you to an excited monologue on how that’s bullshit: engines don’t really need thirty-eight holes, and this engine is probably trying to scam the company. Sometimes there is no thirty-eight-hole lever. Sometimes the engine calls you a stupid bitch.