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skonen_blades“This is big potatoes.” said Olaf with his big toothy smile.
He was a nice guy. Huge. He’d just worked three months of overtime like the rest of us. He’d received a pitiful bonus, also like the rest of us. While we were griping, he was beaming. It was a lot of money to him. We knew he’d find out how far money goes over here in our country soon enough.
Last week, we had told him what ‘small potatoes’ meant. Now, he was thinking that ‘big potatoes’ must mean the opposite. We shook our heads and corrected him. He laughed.
Three months of overtime later, we got another cheque.
“This is big change.” said Olaf with his big toothy smile.
He was still happy. Nothing made this guy sad. The week before, we’d told him what ‘small change’ meant. He thought that ‘big change’ meant the opposite.
We shook our heads and corrected him. He didn’t laugh this time.
A week later, his arm was cut off in the pipe-bender machine.
Because he didn’t have the proper documentation, he was given no money and fired. The company saved a few bucks, hired another foreigner, and forgot about him.
I didn’t. I hung out with him for that home stretch. Without an arm, he had nothing. He had trouble with the language. He could afford nothing. I watched him die. I’ve never seen anything like it.
His belly got fat and his muscles got thin and his eyes got far away. It was like watching a fire get dimmer and then watching the coals go black. I’d never seen anyone just give up and check out before.
He died. I was the only one at the funeral. I couldn’t find an address book in his belongings for anyone back in his country to notify. He was gone.
I think now that the machines that killed him are the physical extensions of the people that run the company. They are also the guns that shot the people that tried to unionize years ago. They are the scissoring metal shards that don’t know the difference between legally defendable and morally right.
Big Change. Olaf thought a few extra dollars was Big Change. He was wrong. I know what Big Change looks like.
To me, it looks like a guy in a suit with soft hands and no morals hung by his ankles from a warehouse roof.
It looks like the workboot footprints tracking his blood in circles around the concrete floor.
tags
He was a nice guy. Huge. He’d just worked three months of overtime like the rest of us. He’d received a pitiful bonus, also like the rest of us. While we were griping, he was beaming. It was a lot of money to him. We knew he’d find out how far money goes over here in our country soon enough.
Last week, we had told him what ‘small potatoes’ meant. Now, he was thinking that ‘big potatoes’ must mean the opposite. We shook our heads and corrected him. He laughed.
Three months of overtime later, we got another cheque.
“This is big change.” said Olaf with his big toothy smile.
He was still happy. Nothing made this guy sad. The week before, we’d told him what ‘small change’ meant. He thought that ‘big change’ meant the opposite.
We shook our heads and corrected him. He didn’t laugh this time.
A week later, his arm was cut off in the pipe-bender machine.
Because he didn’t have the proper documentation, he was given no money and fired. The company saved a few bucks, hired another foreigner, and forgot about him.
I didn’t. I hung out with him for that home stretch. Without an arm, he had nothing. He had trouble with the language. He could afford nothing. I watched him die. I’ve never seen anything like it.
His belly got fat and his muscles got thin and his eyes got far away. It was like watching a fire get dimmer and then watching the coals go black. I’d never seen anyone just give up and check out before.
He died. I was the only one at the funeral. I couldn’t find an address book in his belongings for anyone back in his country to notify. He was gone.
I think now that the machines that killed him are the physical extensions of the people that run the company. They are also the guns that shot the people that tried to unionize years ago. They are the scissoring metal shards that don’t know the difference between legally defendable and morally right.
Big Change. Olaf thought a few extra dollars was Big Change. He was wrong. I know what Big Change looks like.
To me, it looks like a guy in a suit with soft hands and no morals hung by his ankles from a warehouse roof.
It looks like the workboot footprints tracking his blood in circles around the concrete floor.
tags