it's like when a home health care worker, in possession of a deep and real and true empathy, gets paid so little [she's never made more than ten bucks an hour in all her twenty years] that she cannot do her job to the extent she knows is possible, because of the financial stresses of her own home.
"And then you get a worker, somebody like me, who really gives a fuck; who really cares, but, because my car's got a hundred and ninety thousand miles on it, and it needs new brakes, and won't go in reverse, and I'm already broke two days after payday, and my next check won't be in for another ten days, I've got to run around borrowing money, and hoping for some miracle to happen, so that I don't get fired, and can make it to Doreen's house every morning, because without me, she can't get dressed, and without me, she can't feed herself, and without me, she doesn't have that reassurance that she's actually in her own home [when she forgets]."
And so, that's how my sister -who really cares about people; really sees the person in the patient - has had to do it all these years. One struggle after another; one crisis after another. Day by day, sometimes hour by hour.
But no longer. She has finally landed herself a union job in construction.
I congratulationed her. That was a long run but a good run, taking care of other people - strangers who became friends, and became not unlike family to her -and her persistence, as well as her refusal to compromise her integrity, has finally paid off.
This brought us to worth: who is worth what to whom and why.
We all hear about Bill Gates' 'worth', or some other rich dude's 'worth', in the context that the more money you have, the more you're 'worth'. This system is upside down: The rich guy who has a bizzillion dollars stashed in an offshore vault somewhere will never be worth as much [to me, and to those whom she has taken care of] as my sister is. Neither will his money, all that money that's sitting doing nothing, or if, say, [use your imagination here] he's the guy who owns the company that pays my sister Poverty Wages.
We agreed wholeheartedly that the care giver with empathy is worth more than the owner of the company that supplies the caregiver [but gives that caregiver poverty wages].
Furthermore, we, my sister and I, have stopped looking at, and listening to] those who count 'worth' strictly in terms of how much money you make, or you've made, or you stole. They are not a credible, nor healthy way to view true wealth, especially at a time when so many hard working, dedicated people are paid so little. My good-hearted sister's worth - and those like her - is worth more, to me, by far, and to her family, and to those whom have been fortunate enough to have had her as their caregiver, and is beyond measure.
But the guy who owns the company that paid her a pittance for her hard work and genuine love of people? Like Dickens' treatment of Scrooge, he is only worthy of the continuing, haunting visits of all the enlightened ghosts he has ever chased from his dreams.
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Thanksgiving
If he had asked me, I would have told him that I didn't want to go. But he didn't ask me, and he had already made up his mind a long time before he came home that day and sat at the kitchen table and said that we were going to go to California, and that I had better start packin' what I wanted, and he'd pack what we needed, and he said that I had better go and say all my goodbyes and start gettin' the kids ready, and that if Mama and Daddy were going to go, that they should get ready, too.
That was a bad day. He had come home early, and I hadn't even started supper yet. That God-awful silence that followed him in and seemed to sit down with him was the only thing that kept my heart from breakin', but just like anything else that had ever come up in that home, we just brushed it aside. We had to.
It was awful. I asked him how many days, and he said we'd be leavin' the day after Thanksgiving. Two days from then. I asked him if I should cook a Thanksgiving meal, and he said yes, that it would be a good way to go. But I wondered how it could be, when we all knew that we would be leaving in the morning.
He must've known what I was thinkin' then, because he rose up out of his seat and come over to me, to where I was standin', and he put his arms around me. He didn't say nothin', didn't even bend down towards me the way he usually did. He just held me, for the longest time. I just wanted to burst with sadness, and I'm sure he did, too, but we didn't. We just swayed, like we were dancin', and talked about Thanksgiving.
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On The Verge Of Obsolescence
The expired plates on the car were less conspicuous, maybe, but still a source of concern, and driving without insurance an even bigger worry. And the car had been packed and stacked so high with stuff, that it was taller than it was long or wide. Pots and pans, pillows and blankets, rags and towels, soap and water, dishes; everything was stacked and strapped down to that car, that oasis of life; tied to the roof, tied to the doors, tied to the times.
The engine had died, and the vehicle had, for a while, slowly rolled along, carried forward by its own momentum, before silently coming to a complete stop on the shoulder of the road, on a poor stretch of rutted highway, in a cloud of dust and dirt and steam and heat, in a forgotten town, without warning, without notice, alone, in America.
Happy faces; perfect, smiling faces, battered, peeling and faded, stared, sightless, down and out, from their exposed and rusting metal home; two-dimensional faces on a two-dimesional surface, in a two-dimensional world. Happy faces with shotgun holes for freckles, dried flakes of paint for proof, a copyright sign for protection, these flat metal faces depict an America that never was, these painted on creations of the Corporation so much propaganda, like the promise of a future never realized, like a dream somehow lost, like a sweetness never tasted.
A moment of silence, then I stand purposeless, just as the statues of Easter Island now stand purposeless. I see the cold, rusting lights of the old convenience station; the old country stores, the old Mom and Pops stores, their function, swept away; their importance, just like their builders, swept away, just as this, too, this narrative, shall be swept away, just as whole classes of people are being swept away, right now, while, across the street, a stone's throw away, everything is in rich abundance: Food, Shelter, Good Medical Care, Economic Stabilty, a Propaganda Machine Ready At All Times... That's where the class of the future, the only class of people left with the means to survive, prepares for their future, a future without us, without our pollution, without our hungry mouths, without our criticisms, our jealousies, our diseases, our sewage, our consumption, our unstoppable population growth, our bad hair and infantile needs, our ego-driven conversations. And standing with them, and behind them, are their soulless friends, the Corporations. And these Corporations, too, stare out at us with sightless eyes. And their bellies are full, even though their bodies are hollow, like the exoskeletons of large insects, the largest predatory insects to have ever roamed the planet.
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Why Ten Bucks An Hour Ain't Enough
According to the Department of Human Services Guidelines for SNAP [food stamps] eligibility:
Number of people in your household: 1
Maximum gross income: $1,265.00
Maximum gross monthly benefits: $194.00
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Number of people in your household: 2
Maximum gross income: $1,705.00
Maximum gross monthly benefits: $357.00
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Number of people in your household: 3
Maximum gross income: $2,144.00
Maximum gross monthly benefits: $511.00
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Number of people in your household: 4
Maximum gross income: $2584.00
Maximum gross monthly benefits: $649.00
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The average wage of a full-time [34 hours per week is considered full-time status at Wal-Mart] Wal-Mart Associate right now is about $8.81 per hour, or $299.34 gross income per week.
By raising the minimum wage from $8.81 to $10.00 per hour, the average full-time Wal-Mart associate, living alone, w
ould be making approximately $340.00 per week [gross], which is just enough to push the poor bastard off the food stamp rolls but not enough to make ANY significant impact on his or her paycheck.
But even more significantly, a raise of the average wage from $8.81 to $10.00 an hour for average full-time Wal-Mart Associates with 2 or more family members would do nothing to bring their family up and out of poverty, and off the food stamp rolls.
This is why ten dollars an hour stinks, and this is why the average Wal-Mart full-time associate, as well as the rest of the American Working Class, should reject this latest Wal-Mart poverty wage deal.
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According to makingchangeatwalmart:
"According to a 2011 report (PDF), if Walmart started paying a $12/hour minimum wage, its workers currently earning less than $9 per hour could each earn $3,250 to $6,500 more per year before taxes. If Walmart were to pass this cost directly to shoppers, the average consumer would need to pay only 46 cents more per shopping trip, or $12.50 per year."
https://makingchangeatwalmart.org/factsheet/walmart-watch-fact-sheets/fact-sheet-wages/
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If spending $12.50 per year, a mere 46 cents per visit, can raise the average wage at Wal-Mart to $12.50 per hour and make that kind of significant impact on an average full-time Wal-Mart Associate's paycheck, how many more cents would be needed to bring them up to fifteen bucks an hour?
I don't shop at Wal-Mart because of their poverty