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

by Emily Guendelsberger

Since I was a teenager scooping ice cream, I’ve had a little voice whispering contrarian ideas in my ear. This is some bullshit. If buying a few drinks at a dive karaoke joint is a splurge, your job does not actually pay well! If you describe your workplace as oppressive, you don’t actually love your job! People shouldn’t have to live like this. How can you not see that you deserve more? The whisper comes from whatever it is inside me that gets angry when things are unfair, and thinks it’s possible to change things for the better. It’s what briefly hijacked my body to scream “HEY, FUCK YOU, LADY!” It’s the part of me that likes to help people, and can be hurt by them. It’s what makes me able to experience pleasure and fury—the exact part that went missing during my gray years of depression. It’s the idea that the world can be better. It’s the expectation that the world should be better.