Labor and Class by Tammy L.

I'm running 19 miles, 20 miles, 21 miles. What for? No one's chasing me. No one's trying to kill me or my family. I'm running to prepare for a race and this is totally optional. No one is making me do it and, in fact, I paid to enter this race. My hips and knees are screaming, “stop you fool,” my feet feel twice their normal size. I'm doing something that is so hard just to see if I can. On race day in MN, people are cheering me on and handing me cups of water and Powerade. They're patting me on the back and giving me high-fives. When I'm finished I get a medal and a t-shirt. I can barely walk. My muscles ache; my knees hurt. 

After many of these races in the mid-west, I start to realize I see very few people of color running. I wonder why that is and I wonder why it took me so long to even notice. I'm thinking about how race and economic class are so intertwined, one bound to the other. And the way class defines even our recreational activities. And keeps us segregated.

I have cross country skied at nearly every nearby park, county and state. It's the same thing. I rarely see anyone other than white people on the parallel lines. It took me a while to realize that, too. Why? And I start to wonder, “are these luxuries for only a few?" This is labor, but it's labor in my free time.

When I go to work, I sometimes complain about how hard my job is, about the changes management makes. There's a new procedure, some new report I need to complete. There are some difficult people I have to work with, the phone calls I have to take. Just then, a woman comes around; I see her everyday. She takes my small waste bin and dumps it in the larger trash barrel. I say, “thank you” and she moves on. I don't know this woman but I could. She has a nice face. Over time, I start to add, “how are you?” and “have a great day.” She thanks me. It occurs to me that my co-workers and I are complaining about petty things, inconsequential things. I'm embarrassed realizing that she may have heard some of them. What are her concerns? I want to ask her about herself, but it feels contrived. I fear that she will question my reason or motives. And we both have jobs to do. She has to keep going and so do I.

During the day, the customer service representatives divide up the requests: copy that, mail that, fax that, pay that....They support the adjusters. There's the woman again, taking their waste bins, too, and emptying them. Sometimes she is dusting the shelves our work sits on. Sometimes she is vacuuming. No one is handing her cups of water or Powerade. It's as though no one even notices she's there, like she's invisible. When I leave work for the day, there's also a man pushing a cart with cleaning supplies loaded in it. I see him everyday when I leave. I say “hi” and I smile at him. He just looks at me expressionless. He pushes the cart up and down the 5 story building. No one gives him high-fives or pats him on the back. Where are the words of encouragement for him? What's he thinking? I saw him in the elevator as I headed for it; he looks at me and doesn't hold the elevator. The door closes. I end up feeling like I deserve that.

I went to say goodbye to Traci, the VP. I've worked with her for years and she gradually worked her way up the ladder, but now she's leaving the company. She's in her private office. I go in and we start to discuss her plans for the future, ("oh, take time off for myself and the kids...maybe become a personal trainer"), when her boss comes in. He's flown in on a corporate jet to do the “exit interview.” He starts talking to her while she and I are in the middle of our conversation. He doesn't excuse himself or apologize, even just to be polite. He speaks only to her, never once looks or nods in my direction, acknowledging my existence. It's as though he doesn't notice me; I am invisible to him. I'm uncomfortable standing there while the two talk. I leave quietly without saying goodbye.