By Jaton Rash

Late last summer I worked for nearly a week in the warehouse of an exercise equipment maker. The assignment was through a temporary agency, as many of my previous jobs have been. In spite of having to be at work at 6:00 am, it seemed like a promising assignment, or at least one I could tolerate for a little while. I'm a bike rider, and the warehouse was just a couple miles from home, so that was a big plus for me. My previous assignment with a temp agency had been across town, and it took an hour and a half of combined bicycling and bus riding to get there, which meant three hours of commuting each day.

The description the temp agency gave me was vague, something like "warehouse labor." Indeed, that was what the assignment entailed, and it turned out that the form of labor required was bordering on the absurd. It was also discouraging for someone (me, for instance) in that situation who was hoping for something a little better. But I'd seen it all before, on other temp jobs, and if nothing else, there was at least the potential for some male posturing and/or male bonding, to alleviate the near-absurdity of the task.

The task at first involved opening up boxes of exercise equipment that had been returned, and methodically taking apart each and every little part of the material, to separate different recyclable parts and garbage. A few young men stood over makeshift tables, spread the contents of a box on the tables, and used a few simple hand tools-boxcutters, screwdrivers, and a torque wrench-to deconstruct the material. We would largely develop our own methods for this deconstruction-there were dozens of different pieces that needed to be worked on. Behind us there were three large industrial garbage dumpsters, and we would throw the recyclables or garbage behind us into the dumpsters. This meant taking large pieces of metal, as most of the material was steel, and tossing them into a large steel bin, and the noise was ear-splitting. Also, the chemistry of movement was stinted due to the casual tossing of the metal. Aside from that noise, there was a stereo playing loud heavy-metal type music.

On my first day, there were three other young men, besides me, engaged in this task. There were two managers stationed nearby, both in charge of one aspect of warehouse operations. Both of them would leave the company in the time that I was there, which turned out to be five working days.

At first, I believed I could tolerate this assignment as long as it lasted. But it was a very demeaning job. It was dirty and noisy, and bad for the hands, with all the improvised deconstruction of the returned equipment, which largely involved different hand and finger maneuvers. One of the most demeaning aspects of the job was that at breaks and lunchtime, if anyone in the warehouse wanted to use the amenities of a break room, for instance to get coffee, then they had to consult one of the managers. They had the key or code necessary to get into the "clean" part of the building, which was the sales/administrative part. So that meant that going into a breakroom or lunchroom was discouraged. The whole set-up of the operation was that warehouse people would stay in the warehouse area, unless they had special access. Having to consult one of the key or code holders was not only awkward, but meant that that person would have to make a long walk over to the door in question, which was time consuming. The only amenities provided in the warehouse were a microwave on top of a mini-refrigerator, close to our area of deconstruction.

To cap off a day, one of the managers, I'll call him Sam, would speak to the assembled temp workers, about 4-6 people, and say that he would fire everyone if a certain mistake were to be repeated. An example of a mistake was when some metal-screws or nuts and bolts-ended up in a styrofoam recycling box, which was prohibited.

That describes the assignment up until the final day. In the second half of my last day there, things took a bizarre turn. The first half of that day, me and two newer temp workers were re-packaging some merchandise, which was actually a step above the deconstruction of the past few days. It essentially involved making boxes, using a staple gun, then transferring material from the old box into the new one. This went along fine, except for a brief moment when one of my co-workers became confused as to the exact order the re-packaged boxes were to be put on pallets. This led to a brief consultation with Sam, which I worried would escalate into something more. That was avoided, but it did give me more of a sense of Sam's frame of mind. He was a little head strong.

The re-packaging job continued until Sam came to inform the three of us of a new task that was to be done. A little makeshift production line was set-up, with a metal table on which boxes would move down the line. Four new temp workers appeared, and along with me and the two I had been working alongside, we were tasked with opening up boxes of merchandise, putting new stickers on the contents inside the box, new stickers on the outside of the box, then re-strapping the boxes. The new stickers had instructions in both English and French, replacing English-only stickers.

Me and a young man I'll call James were at the end of the line, in charge of re-strapping the boxes, then stacking them on pallets. These boxes were heavy, about 60-70 lbs., and so it turned out that our job was the most physically demanding. Me and James also happened to be the biggest guys there, so it was natural that we would end up at the end of the line. Everyone in the group was very sociable with each other, except for me and one of the new temp workers. It was awkward to be at the end of the makeshift line, not talking to anyone, but I talked with James a little. He seemed somewhat interested in a girl who was among the new group.

At the start of this new task, all the chiefs of the warehouse came to monitor the initial progress we made in putting stickers on boxes. There was Sam and an older disagreeable man. They were the two forklift drivers. But more importantly, the young man who was the overall warehouse manager, with an office in the front of the warehouse, came to watch, as well as en even higher-up administrator, who didn't even work in the warehouse, but whose position must have been attached to warehouse operations. His title may have been 'facilities director.' At any rate, he was dressed in casual office wear, and he worked on the "clean" side of the building.

So these four men monitored the newly set-up operation, which involved us temp workers putting stickers on boxes. There was a series of stickers of varying sizes and different messages. Each of the new temp workers was in charge of putting a specific sticker on a box. The monitors were standing a little ways off to the side, silent and watching. I was perhaps closest to them, as the work got underway, and their presence immediately disturbed me. It was degrading, but there was also a hint of danger in the stance that these men had taken. It was significant that they felt they had to watch this new development closely, and further, that they felt the need to be silent. The amount of time that they stood there was excessive-any length of time would have been-and there seemed a lack of spontaneity in their stance. One thought I've had is that one or two of them were secretly considering how absurd this development was. Maybe the presence of one or the other of the higher-up administrators prompted the rest of them to mimic his actions. In the case of Sam and the older man, I think that was the case.

The group broke up after several moments. A further oddity along the same lines was the new stance that Sam took, crouched in his forklift, and again monitoring the activities. He was parked about 15-20' back from the production line. Mostly he was just sitting there, and it was the presence of the forklift which was the odd thing about that. It was a throwback to different forms of labor in the past, or to chain-gang type labor, where a group leader is elevated in some way, physically, and must keep a close eye on the workers. I attribute this mostly to the awkwardness of the situation, and to the youth and inexperience of Sam. He was not much older than twenty, and could not have imagined what the scene looked like. Further, he did serve a purpose there, for instance, if someone had a question, or if his help was actually needed with the forklift. A couple of times he walked among the workers, trying to make small talk, but it didn't quite come across as genuine, and his aim was mostly to give some new direction.

This new task occurred in the second half of the day. After the initial period, things went OK, everything considered. The whole group was generally sociable, and me and James were at the end of the line. Sam would come over and make suggestions about putting the stickers on the boxes, or he would implore me and James to put stickers on the boxes if we weren't strapping them and stacking them on the pallets. This direction was awkward, as it was better to have people focusing on one task, and there was no place for us to fit in among the sticker placers. So it went.

The situation deteriorated, for me at least, when Sam became more involved with monitoring how the boxes were stacked on the pallets. This became a sticking point. A certain end of the box had to be facing a certain way, so that a certain sticker was visible to the forklift driver. I had taken up the new task of putting one sticker on the box (the crucial one in question) as well as the strapping and stacking of the boxes. As simple as the task was, it was made more difficult by the monitoring of Sam, as he perceived errors in how the boxes were stacked on the pallets, or how a certain sticker was placed on a box. His manner of speaking with people, (me and James in particular) was in the style of a grade-school teacher, mixed in with a bit of intimidation. While on the short side, Sam was in good shape and muscular, which added some emphasis to his instructions. Before I became frustrated with him, he had made a direct rebuke of James, and while James largely brushed it off, it changed the dynamics of the situation.

That rebuke was something like: "You need to be putting stickers on boxes, if you're not doing anything at this end of the line," which was ridiculous, and may have been prompted by James being sociable with others. My problems with Sam came about simply because I was trying to communicate with him, and he was too stubborn to listen. There was a fine line between whether or not he was trying to be rude and intimidating, or if he was unaware that his attitude and manner came across that way.

At one point he rebuked me for sticker placement, and I got a gut feeling that I hadn't felt in years, kind of like the fight or flight mechanism. The rebuke was pointed. He said to me, "You're not listening," as we looked at the boxes and tried to discuss sticker placement. It was a direct rebuke, but more than that. It was a young manager telling someone five years older than him, with five years more life experience, that he was a child. The treatment was similar to a teacher talking down to a child. When he said this, it was not entirely confrontational. It was quick, and he was not waiting for a response. There was a fine line he was on between apparent frustration with an employee, and outright degradation.

An important point about all this is that there was not much about this task that merited discussion, and yet here was this young man imploring people to stay busy putting stickers on boxes. In part, that could be explained by the fact that four of the workers were new to the building. Yet there was a level of importance that Sam was applying to the task which didn't equate with how important it really was.

When he said, "You're not listening," part of me wondered how things could get any worse. After my gut feeling subsided, my mind switched to figuring out the details of how I was going to leave. I stayed the rest of the shift, however. One thing that worried me was that I would have a change of heart about the assignment, and come back the next day for more punishment, but when I got home that day I called the temp agency and cancelled the "contract."