 (Via email, January 15, 2003)
Dear Barbara:
I am a 49-year old grandmother of 3 and a full time student of Human Services at Delaware Technical and Community College in Wilmington, Delaware. I am in my last semester serving my internship at a senior center. I have carried a 4.0 GPA since attending school while living at a below poverty income level receiving only SSDI income. Currently I am studying Social Policy and your name was mentioned today by my professor as being one of the top spokespersons regarding the critical need for abundant need for change in social policy, particularly in th welfare system.
My interest in this area is many fold. When I began my studies 2 1/2 years go, I was in a homeless shelter and in a wheelchair resulting from foot surgery. Therefore I know all to well the ins and outs of the welfare system and what you can and cannot live on. I am very goal oriented and I plan to get my masters degree in this field working toward becoming an advocate for social change in some manner. My purpose in writing to you is to begin networking at an early stage. I am hoping to make contacts now so that I can begin to know people in all fields so that when I have at least my bachelor's degree in hand I can start to make things happen.
I can no longer sit around and watch the fat cats sit around making decisions that affect those of us that they no absolutely nothing about and never will. For example, in the State of Delaware, a single person cannot make more than $476 per month GROSS in order to get foot stamps. Let one of the senators or congressmen try to live on that kind of money for a month. They spend more than that on lunches!!!
Issue #2 -- I was approved for my disability in August. As soon as I begam receiving my SSDI, I was immediately cut off from receiving my food stamps and my Medicaid because I was over the monetary limit. There's a dichotomy there. If I'm disabled it seems to me that I need medical coverage. So now I have to medical coverage at all and have to depend on going to a clinic where I am responsible for 40% of all bills. I can barely pay my rent.
Some how, some way, I am going to organize many, many people in the future to lobby first in my state and then in Washington to do someting about the insanity of the Welfare and healthcare systems and/or some type of assistance plan for those of us or truly need it. Some Americans like myself are really trying to make a better life for ourselves, albeit a late start, but cannot get out from under all the burdens. There's no incentive to try.
In any event, I really appreciate your reading this and I'd love to hear back from you with any advice, inspiration, guidance or whatever you might have. Your book was so inspirational and helped me greatly with my aspirations.
Sincerely,
Karen Stover,
Wilmington, Delaware
(Via email, February 6, 2003)
Dear Barbara,
I had picked up your book a few times at the bookstore and flipped through it, intending to buy it one day--luckily for me, my younger daughter needed to purchase it for her Business Ethics (is there such a thing?) class at the University of Pittsburgh. Once finished, she lent it to me (along with Fast Food Nation, which I've just started).
Let me begin by saying my family background could be called decidedly middle-class: my dad and mom had a nursery--trees, bushes, other plantings available throughout the year, Christmas trees during the holidays. Through a lot of hard work and sacrifice in running their own business, they were able to put myself and my brother to post secondary school (my brother college, me business/secretarial school). Even though academically I probably at the time should have opted for college, too, with no clear career goals, I figured I'd get a secretarial job, then perhaps get the college education later. In a few years, I married, had a couple of kids (luckily my husband had a good job at the post office, and we lived in a relatively small town with reasonable living expenses, so I could stay home with the kids for a number of years.) I went back to school part-time, and after some 10 years or so, earned a teaching degree in secondary social science. Figured in a few years (5 or so at most), I'd be able to get a fulltime position after faithfully substituting at 3 or 4 districts. What did I know?
Talk about a "pink ghetto." Thank heavens I did have a strong, supportive husband with a decent income; if I had been single (or worse yet a single mom), the outlook would have been pretty bleak. To make a long story short: those 5 years stretched to 10. Yes, I had the advantage of being home when my kids were home, only 10-15 minutes away from any of the schools I which I worked, a large network of friends and associates, and access to people who would be very important in the education of my two girls. But at $50/day (in 1989) to $60/day (when I stopped teaching) really didn't come anywhere close to what the average regular teacher in Western Pennsylvania earns. (I became spoiled by a first year teacher's salary of $3l,000 when I filled in as a "permanent sub" for a regular World Cultures instructor on sick leave for two years.) When that teacher retired, I had hoped to become fulltime--or at least have a shot at it, especially when there were to be at least 3 or 4 additional openings in my subject area at the same school within a couple of years. No such luck--in a state that has a tradition of paying teachers well (with strong union support) and hundreds of applicants for any position opening, what chance does a 40-something (albeit very intelligent, well-read, well-liked, more than competent teacher with as much motivation to do well as the next gal/guy) have against 20-something young men who can coach football/basketball/wrestling, etc. and have relatives on the school board, in the classroom, or in the admistrative offices? I saw the writing on the wall and decided to try elsewhere.
That led to a series of part-time jobs from a restaurant bakery (4:00 pm to midnight, usually), making mostly bread, buns, rolls for a number of local eating establishments (about $6/hr., no real benefits) to the post office as a casual during the holidays, making half to a third of what a regular worker earns, working 10-12 hour days, first six, then seven days per week (no sick time, 30 day time limit on working, no benefits at all). Again, thankfully with another contributer to the family income, things were not desperate--if I had been single, it would've been another story.
And now--I work in the University Library System of the University of Pittsburgh under Technical Services (work with records for the journals and newspapers coming into the 14 libraries of the entire campus system). Benefits are decent, the best one being free tuition for my younger daughter who will be a senior this year (and reduced tuition for myself and my husband if we decided to take post-graduate courses). Health benefits--so/so, therefore I still opt to be part of my husband's plan. Sick days and vacation days--pretty good deal. The pay? Well, let's see--according to my W-2 that I just received for the past year, I made about $15,000 (before federal and state taxes, pension contributions, and $36.00 for parking privileges). The past few years there have been student discussions and protest to have the university food service pay their workers the "living wage"--presumably $11-$12/hour. Hmm, wonder how they'd feel if they knew a majority of the workers that process their tuition bills, work in their libraries, keep their records, etc. probably earn about that (or less after taxes); and that they may soon find themselves among those ranks in the not too distant future.
Again, I guess I can't complain (famous last words!) With a 14% hike in tuition this past year, I suppose it could be argued I have gotten a 14% raise (at least until Anne graduates). The sick and vacation days are nice, hours are somewhat flexible (especially nice since it takes me about 45 minutes to commute each way to and from home). What gets some people upset is the way this particular academic institution has spent money over the past few years--a $19 million overrun in the construction of a new sports facility for basketball (after tearing down Pitt Stadium); a number of other construction projects that have similar expenditures (or LOOK state-of-the-art, when in actuality cost-cutting attempts have seriously undercut the efficiency and/or safety of facilities); aggressive attempts to reduce staff, especially older, loyal staff(potentially more expensive pensioners) and hiking salaries, perks, and bonuses for senior administrators (sounds like business as usual). The excuse is that these senior officials need to be given incentives to stick around, that they can make more in private industry, blah, blah, blah. I think trustees and legislators make big mistakes in trying to run ANY kind of educational institution--from preschool to the hallowed ivy-covered halls of public colleges and universities--as a business. These schools are public enterprises that exist for the good of our democratic society as a whole. If they truly wanted to run them like businesses, then they should pay more of their share of the tax burden. I recently read that something like 60% of the propery holders City of Pittsburgh can claim tax exempt status (we have a large number of universities--Pitt, Carnegie-Mellon, Chatham, Carlow, Duquesne--and hospitals (many connected with the universities). It is no wonder city services are stretched to the limit.
Whew!! Didn't mean to go on and on like this! It is just that your book really touched a nerve, and often those of us at the bottom of the pay scale (even in an academic environment) don't often have a chance to vent and feel we are being heard (or even acknowledged at all!).
Thank you, Ms. Ehrenreich, for a very thoughtful, important book.
Sincerely,
[name withheld], Pittsburgh
May 2, 2003
Hi Ms. Ehrenreich,
I have just completed your amazingly enlightening book for my labor history class (I'm at the school of Industrial and Labor Relations at Cornell). I am an only child who was raised by a single mother who, recently, has found herself in a financial crisis and living in a shelter because of a domestic violence incident between her and her mother (they occupied the same residence). Luckily I have the support of other well educated and fortunate family members who are helping me pay for tuition (most of which is covered by financial aid). I often wonder how many people are given an opportunity like I am; and I am still a lot worse off then many of the people who attend this institution with me. I am burdened not only by issues in my own young adult life, but by issues of how we will get by, where she will move too etc.; issues which any person my age shouldn't have to deal with. I have always been more conscious of money and often times regret my inability to partake in the shopping sprees and nonchalant spending habits of my friends. For this reason I have always been more aware of the "real" world, and do not overlook what many, at my age, and at this institution would - the plight of the undereducated, underpaid and underprivileged. Your book has touched me very deeply. As a citizen, I feel that I have an obligation to help the underprivileged - as a union organizer perhaps? - but I have yet to figure that out. In the mean time however, I'm curious to know your stance on the possibility (or impossibility) of upward social mobility in the U.S.. I, despite trying to maintain a sugar coated optimistic view on the subject, believe that upward social mobility is extremely unlikely. the current worsening conditions and probability that the huge and growing deficit will most likely lead to inflation in the near future confirms my pessimism. Would it really be that heartbreaking for the ceo's and other such overpaid and under worked leaders to share some of their wealth? Just a thought -- but I'm curious as to what your feelings are about social mobility.
Thank you so very much.
Fondly,
Name withheld by request
June 6, 2003
Barbara, just read "Nickel and Dimed". Great book. Thank you.
I experienced something similar when, a few years ago I lost my professional job, couldn't get another and, desparate for cash, drove as a courier for a year in Washington, DC. Talk about pure hell. But it opened my eyes.
A few weeks ago I submitted the article below (part of this email instead of attachment) to the Wash. Post, before my daughter gave me your book. They've ignored it.
What's your opinion? It sums up my beliefs since my tough experience. What can an do, concretely, to help secure economic justice? I think we share similar philosophies.
Randy J., Springboro, OH
The Big Fat Cat
When my children were little I read to them The Little Red Hen, the tale of an industrious hen that lived in a barnyard with her chicks and a lazy duck, pig and cat. The hen finds grains of wheat and, with no help from the carefree duck, pig and cat (though she asks them repeatedly) plants the grain, harvests it, has it ground into flour and bakes some fresh bread. The duck, pig and cat are, of course, eager to help with the eating but, because they didn't lift a finger to help, don't get a bite.
The well-known story teaches an ancient real world lesson: if you don't work, you don't eat. But, looking around at today's world, I am struck with another reality, and another lesson. To illustrate, as a take-off on The Little Red Hen, I have written a new tale: The Big Fat Cat.
Once there was a big fat Cat who lived on a farm with three kittens, a strong Cow, a fast Dog and a wise Goose. One day the fat Cat found some grains of wheat. "Hmm." he said. "Who will help me plant this wheat?"
"I will," mooed the Cow. "I will!" barked the Dog. "I will," honked the Goose. And they did. While the fat Cat snoozed, the strong Cow pulled a plow guided by the wise Goose and the fast Dog planted the grain behind them. The fat Cat paid them each 5 cents for their work.
Then the fat Cat went on vacation while the Cow, Dog and Goose tended the growing wheat. When it was tall and golden and ready to cut, the fat Cat asked, "Who will help me harvest this wheat?"
"I will," mooed the Cow. "I will!" barked the Dog. "I will," honked the Goose. And they did. While the fat Cat played with the kittens, the strong Cow, fast Dog and wise Goose cut the wheat and gathered it in bundles. Then the fat Cat paid them each 5 cents for their work.
"Now," said the fat Cat, "it is time to take the wheat to the miller so he can grind it into flour. Who will help me?"
"I will," mooed the Cow. "I will!" barked the Dog. "I will," honked the Goose. And they did. While the fat Cat went fishing, the Cow, Dog and Goose hauled the wheat to the miller who ground it into fine white flour and put it into sacks. Then the Cow, Dog and Goose carried the flour back to the barnyard. And the fat Cat paid them each 5 cents for their work.
Then the fat Cat asked, "Who will help me make this flour into dough?"
"I will," mooed the Cow. "I will!" barked the Dog. "I will," honked the Goose. And they did. While the Cat hunted for mice, the Cow, Dog and Goose kneaded the flour into dough.
When the fat Cat returned he paid them each 5 cents and said, "Now it is time to bake the bread. Who will help me?"
"I will," mooed the Cow. "I will!" barked the Dog. "I will," honked the Goose. And they did. As the fat Cat watched, the Cow, the Dog and the Goose made the dough into loaves and baked them in the oven. And the fat Cat paid them each 5 cents for their work.
When the bread was ready, the fat Cat took it from the oven and said, "Who will help me eat this fresh warm bread?"
"I will!" cried the Cow, the Dog and the Goose all at once.
Then the fat Cat said, "That will be $2.95 per loaf."
"But," said the Cow, the Dog and the Goose, "we don't have that much. And we did all the work!"
"Sorry," said the fat Cat. "I found the grains of wheat, so the bread is mine. If you want some, the price is $2.95 a loaf."
The Cow, the Dog and the Goose were hungry. They counted their money and found they had enough for one slice. So they bought a slice of bread from the fat Cat and they each had one bite.
Meanwhile the big fat Cat and the kittens had four loaves of bread in the cupboard. They ate their fill, and padded off to the opera.
Not so "happily ever after," is it? Everyone can see the lesson in the story: if you work, you deserve a fair share of the produce. Yet the plight of the cow, dog and goose is reality for millions of Americans today. Their work enriches others, but doesn't quite give them enough to meet their own needs.
The Fat Cat had no inherent right to the grain; he just found it -- as all resources on planet earth were found by someone, or taken later by the stronger. No one is born into the world with their name on a deed of land. There is a sense in which the planet belongs equally to all members of the human family.
No one can realize great wealth without the help of others. The rich of today do not earn the money alone; it is made possible by the labor of many, and a whole network of society behind them. Therefore, it is unfair for the lion's share of the wealth to remain in the hands of a few. One of the great evils of today, and a cause of misery, is the vast accumulation of wealth, created by many, into the hands of a few.
The solution is obvious: ensure that the many, who do the work, receive a fair, greater share of the wealth they create. Rather than protecting the ability of a few to keep an ever-increasing share, (the wealth gap keeps getting bigger) the government should be protecting the right of the many to keep more of the wealth that they created in the first place.
The structure to do this is already in place: the minimum wage and progressive taxation. The minimum wage can gradually become a true living wage (uniformly and nationally). Progressive taxation can be strengthened. No one should believe the lie that progressive taxation is unfair because the rich have earned the money. They did not; not by themselves.
Some in government today allege that the way to help the poor is to financially take care of the rich and let the wealth "trickle down". I'm not an economist but common sense tells me that, if demand is low, tax cuts for the rich will be pocketed rather than invested, doing nothing for the poor or the economy. Instead, why not let the poor, who are more likely to spend it, keep a greater share of their earnings -- which would help them immediately, increase demand and boost the whole economy?
The tale of the Big Fat Cat illustrates an injustice in America today. Throw in a farmer (a government) who protects the Fat Cat and you have a picture of the current policies. I want a society where all who contribute never have to worry that their basic needs will be inadequately met, a society that provides equal security to all of its equally valuable members.
via email, July 22, 2003
Dear Ms. Ehrenreich,
I have a few questions as to specific details of your book.
1)If, as you say, the rich don't deserve the wealth that they have, how do you explain and justify the wealth you have? Why don't you dispense with your material possessions? Why do you live in the affluent area of Key West, Florida with the wealthy people you claim to despise rather than live in area with the "working poor" people you claim to care so much about? It seems rather hypocritical.
2) In the book you criticize the owner of the maid service for paying the maids $6 per hour yet charging the clients $25 per hour. After the owner pays salaries, taxes, insurance, licenses, bonds, marketing, equipment and other business expenses, how much of the $19 per hour profit do you think is left over? Did you even bother to do the math to find out? Also, since the owner not the employee, has taken all of the risk through financial investment why shouldn't he be justly compensated?
3) Maybe if you had lived in the real world and performed manual labor like the "hicks" and "hillbillies" you would have realized much earlier in your life that no job is "truly unskilled".
4) The arrogance, condescension and hypocrisy with which you write the book is not only offensive but typical of elitist communists like yourself who set rules for everyone to live by but yet you conveniently exempt yourself from those same rules. It is exactly this type of hubris and hypocrisy that compels you to live in the United States and enjoy all of the benefits of freedom, wealth and privilege and at the same time criticize anyone else who does the same but does hold your savage Marxist beliefs.
Very Sincerely Yours,
Name withheld
July 29, 2003
Mrs. Ehrenriech,
I just finished reading Nickel and Dimed. What a great book!
I'm sure you get more email like this than you care for, but I fell compelled to share with you two of my own similar experiences.
I am middle school teacher now but just after college, I had a serious of jobs in the nonprofit sector and politics. After one nasty election, I went a few weeks without finding any more political work so I decided to throw myself in with the common man and get a minimum wage job. That was my only search criteria- minimum wage. I had enough savings to live comfortably for about 6 months and I knew that better times were ahead. This, incidentally, was happening about the same time you were writing your book.
I got the first job I applied for- at Office Max. I lasted two weeks. It was the singular most grueling two weeks of my life. They paid me $6 an hour, but I could have probably have gotten more if I had tried.
During the orientation, the motherly human resources manager asked me if I knew what a secret shopper was. In my innocence, I imagined some sort of contest or game show. The reality ignited paranoia of pre-collapse East German intensity.
I quizzed my fellow workers for characteristics I should look for in the secret shopper. All I got was horror stories about how detailed they will report on all our actions, and how if the manager sees anything displeasing, one can expect a solid berating before a summery dismissal.
I also remember that my feet really hurt after about three days. I am a teacher now and am on my feet 80% of my workday which gives me no problems, but at the MAX, it was all the time. Like your experience, I could not sit nor talk with my fellow employees. I found this out ever so bluntly by a department manager when he spied me chatting with the attractive office max greeter as she did her job and I did mine while 10 feet away from each other with no customers in the store. I remember mummering, "fascist" under my breath. I felt my soul start to collapse. I began listening to me I.W.W. Cd a lot more at night.
I dealt a lot with lower managers, including one that demanded that I sign a form that said that he had trained me on how to set up the furniture section even though he clearly had not. No one had. When I refused to sign and asked to be trained, the manager huffed off, and the other furniture worker told me just to sign anything, it didn’t matter. It was just paperwork.
I only dealt with the general manager on my first day and my last day. On my first day, as I was going through part of my orientation in the tiny manager’s office with some assistant, the general manager (such a typical manager with his overflowing gut, and middle-aged mustache, and sense of Republican assuredness) walked in. In typical political campaign style, I rose and extended my hand. "Dylan Forrester. pleased to meet you." He cocked his head around so his ear was closer to my mouth in a way that you would do with a really old man, mumbling about World War I. "Who?", he asked. When I said it again, he repeated my name back to me and in such a way as to be instructive more than anything else. "Dylan…" In less than 30 seconds, he had announced through his body language that my last name didn’t matter and that he was in fact a pompous ass.
On the last day, my feet pain had progressed to my back. I could barely move. I had been hired to a job in the computer department but found myself working in furniture after three days. I gave it my best. I worked through it. But it was killing me. I asked to speak with the assistant manager who had made the switch. I was told to sit in the manager’s office and wait.
In walked the menacing ass of a general manager. As he stormed from the door to the chair in front of mine, he jabbed his finger at me and proclaimed, "I could fire you right now." I raised an eyebrow, Spock-style. He fumbled around for my application and shoved it from of my face. "See! You put a check where it said that you could list over 20 pounds and that you were physically capable for this job. You lied to us. " I smirked and assured him I could indeed lift much more than that and was very much physically capable for selling and moving computers which was the job I was originally given. I told him that the whole matter seems similar to bait and switch.
My insubordinate tone and subtle accusation clearly shocked him. He fell back in his chair, never breaking his focused glare at me. My eyes remained fixed to mine. My adrenaline was surging. I knew this was the battle. He finally looked away and said, "I’m going to knock your pay down to $6 an hour (which little did he know WAS my starting pay) and I’m going to put you on cashier. Wait here, and Jeremy will train you." He walked out without again making eye contact. I stayed there in a dark, dingy little office covered with corporate clutter and my heart first plunged with a sense of failure, but then erupted in fit of defiance.
Jeremey showed up, confused, ten minutes later. I told him to get "that ass hole of a store manager back up here." His eyes got big and he darted off, visibly knowing that a show was about to happen. When the manager made it back up, I was leaning against the doorframe of his office. I saw him come up from cash registers. I took off my uber-dorky red apron and met him just on the other side of the registers. I tossed the apron on the ground in front of his feet and said loud enough for every customer in line to hear (about 10 of them), "You can take that apron and shove it up your… big…. fat…. ass." As I talked, I continued walking. He shouted for me to "get back over here." I continued walking. I walked straight through the automatic doors, turned around flipped off him along with seemingly all the customers behind him, though that was unintentional. Their faces where mostly filled with bemusement, occasionally dotted by some disapproval. Two teenagers high-fived. He darted towards the door agressivly, but I never heard it swoosh open behind me while on my proud, movie-like strut to my car. I was belting out Solidarity Forever as I blarred out of the parking lot.
I went home immediately and called every labor union I could find online. I gave them every bit of intelligence about the store I could remember and wished them well.
Part 2
A year of so later, after I worked as Director of Career Services at a law school that lost its accreditation, I decided to try the corporate world again. This time it was Gieco insurance. They run endless ads for help at their local call center.
I show up after arranging an interview in my senator-like Brooks Brother’s suit, full of confidence and charm. I wait in a room with my fellow applicants. No other male application is even wearing a tie. One guy has a mechanic’s shirt with his name sowed on the chest. The women were wearing short and in one case a really dirty T-shirt.
We all took the sales test together. It is a bizarre test. In most tests that you took for your book, there is an obviously correct answer which they are looking for. At GIECO, there are two paths you can go. You can either look like you are a total sales weasel or that you are pathologically dedicated to customer service. I decided to err of the side of customer service, not wanting to look too unethical to a potential employer by declaring that I would "withhold information from a customer that might make him rethink purchasing a product he doesn’t really need."
They collect our test and show us by far the worst corporate movie ever produced. They obviously had given some of the more perky, attractive employees a video camera and a conference room and asked them to make a puff piece about how god-damn great it is to work at GEICO. It was "Triumph of the Will" without all the flags and production values.
The video ended and we waited 30 minutes for the human resource lady to come back in. She said, "Is there a Dylan Forrester here?" I raised my hand and she asked me to stay while the rest went to the next part of the interview. Man, was I excited! Someone had obviously seen my resume (I was the only person to bring one) and my professional threads. I was heading straight upstairs. I was envisioning what executive training would be like when the lady closed the door and told me that I failed the sales test.
Failed. I was crushed, but at the same time, at that moment, I decided that corporate America indeed sucked. Chomky and Michael Moore were right. I had to experience first had to really get it though. I was given the service test, which was the exact same at the sales test but written with shorter sentences. The answer choices were often written in this format. Would you.. A) Get us sued this way, B) Break international law this way C) Do something so unethical that even being a friend of the Bush family couldn’t get you out of it this way, or D) Do the glaringly correct thing this way.
After I was done, I walked it to the reception desk and ripped the test up and asked the recptionist to thank whoever was in charge of hiring for showing me how NEVER to hire people. Again, I walked out with a cock-sure defiance, tempered by a surprising but repressed self-doubt.
Within weeks, I was enrolled in a teacher-training program. I have been teaching history to 8th graders for two years now and love it. Within two more years, I’ll probably follow my father’s footsteps and go into educational administrtion. I hope I have learned enough from Gieco and the Max to know how to be a boss but not a jack ass, which most of the time people must think are one in the same.
Again, thanks for the wonderful book!
Dylan Forrester
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