In the 90's, I worked for a large, progressive commercial construction company. I recall I hadn't even been there six months when, one September afternoon, the boss stopped by with bonus checks. Fellas that had been there longer than I marvelled that they had never done that before. Christmas came early that year.
Aside from surprise bonus's, the company- I'll call it RatMo Construction- rewarded us in other ways. Raises, which were pretty easy to come by anyway, were now subject to review for all and were 3% of your hourly rate. If that percentage worked out to an odd number, they cheerfully rounded it off to an even fifty cents. The reviews were easy enough. Everyone was judged on a scale of 1 to five. No one, we were told, would get a five. I got a four despite laurels from my boss and his boss that they "....could put me anywhere and (I) would perform (my) work to perfection."
That was a tad disingenuous but, their hearts and generosity were still appreciated. Just struck me as odd to be told you were wonderful but- hey- nobody's perfect! Nobody! But they also saw fit to give us a Simple IRA retirement plan which they detailed to us at a pizza party. They matched our contributions up to 3% even though they didn't have to. This was nice and unexpected. In those days they fed the whole company on the job at least twice a year, good Memphis barbeque and chicken. One Christmas they surprised us with Paid Time Off that we had secretly accumulated over the past 12 months. It amounted to five days of pay either in cash or personal days. All this was icing on the cake of a pretty damn good insurance plan that was free for individuals and very reasonable for families. (The only quirk I felt about the insurance was that you had to have at least 25 hours of work, each week, for six consecutive months. Three eight hour days wasn't going to get it. If you missed that 25 in one week, the clock re-started the next. I knew for a fact that the office kept tabs on who was coming due. Superintendents were consulted and, if a person was useful but out of favor, they would miss a couple of days that last week and go back to square one. Holidays, which accounted for a lot of three day work weeks, didn't help either. But, a good boss would let a good man work an extra hour or two to beat that twenty five. Despite a vacation, I made my insurance by Fall of that first year, working over that 4th of July week). It was all good as far as work goes.
That was, until George Bush came to power. There must have been a memo to all corporate heads that year.
"Fuck your employees! You DO NOT need to coddle them! DO NOT FEED THEM!!!!! DO NOT let them pass 'go' or collect $500 bonus's!!!!"
I would not be surprised if it did indeed read like that. Things DID change with Bush. We still had our reviews but, instead of generously rounding it off to 50 cents, if your raise percentage was 47 cents, that's what you got. Imagine a company being so cheap as to chisel a man out of a $1.20 A WEEK! It's the thought that counts. Suddenly, they didn't think much of us. Bonus's, which had been about a weeks pay were grudgingly given out as a half a weeks pay. Worse, some fellas didn't get anything at all. Worser, the company rats got more.
Construction, like every job, is very competitive. Cutthroat. It got meaner. As shit rolled downhill from management, the rats climbed up on that shit. No doubt, management encouraged this. Lou and Little Jimmy, my supervisors, became less and less interested in supervising. It became a little more like "Lord Of The Flies" than it previously had been. The paint crew had always pretty much run itself as Lou was incompetent (NOT at all a painter) and Little Jimmy had his head and physical self south of Memphis at the casinos in Tunica much of the time. We were left to our own devices. Ratmo didn't have official foremen. I ran work more often than not because I was good and responsible. I treated my people pretty good. In the south, in construction, these isn't necessarily seen as a "good thing". I think the coal-black souls of many a plantation overseer were reincarnated in most of the foremen and superintendent wannabe's that I knew. The south is very hard on itself, the residue of a not-so civil war, I trust.
In 2000, they let all the finishers go. They kept Don, the superintendent, Wayne, a black guy who had sued the company and, thus, they were afraid to fire him, and a young, under paid kid. The bulk of the sheetrock finishing was then subbed out to a company that employed illegals on a day labor type basis. This absolved the company from the nuisance of insurance, workman's comp and all the little unpleasantries that unions fought decades for.
It was a shock. We had long known that the company fantasy was to fire EVERYONE save for a couple of people in the office and sub out all the work to other companies. We just never figured it would actually happen. Long story but, RatMo did 90% of it's business with one powerful man and his family who appreciated the hands on, GET IT DONE NOW! dedication that you just don't get with sub-contractors. RatMo jumped for them, never asking how high. Subs will "get right on that....tomorrow...."
It was a stupid move, probably fiscally brilliant but, stupid. From the moment the finishers were fired, we were warned that we *could* be next. It was fatherly advice at first but, soon enough, it became a threat and then a promise. A "Good morning" to Little Jimmy was often met with: "You motherfuckers can ALL be replaced with Mexicans!". How that little prick survived us is amazing. He was five-foot- nothing. We were all fully grown men. A lot of eye-rolling and sighs, mixed with a good helping of fuck you's was our typical response.
If it got nasty when Bush took office, it got really mean after 9/11/01. Little Jimmy put the screws to us then. We became more aware of our expendability. Even Lou, the *good boss* distanced himself even further from us. The once good job became daily harassment. NOTHING we did was good enough. We were killing the company. We all just sucked. (Some literally figuratively, I'm pretty damn sure....)
On February 1st, 2002, a select group of 14 of us were called to meet in the parking lot of the paint store. That adage about sitting at the poker table and not seeing a chump made you the chump, came to mind. I saw 13 chumps. We all saw 13 chumps.
Little Jimmy was nervous. He'd been running his mouth and getting his ass beat all his life. I'm sure he felt an ass-whuppin' coming that morning. I knew I wasn't going to do it though I might have surprised myself. I was more surprised but nonetheless pleased that none of my fellow chumps made a move on him. He wasn't worth it. Even when he opened up with: "Well, because of Osama Bin Laden and 911...."
He got THAT out of his mouth before I let go with: "You motherfucker! Don't give me that 'Bin Laden' shit! THIS is what you've got after 6 years!!??"
He replied that he didn't know what I was talking about...this wasn't personal.....just business..... work was slow.....
"Shut the fuck up!" I grabbed my last check out of his fat little hand and walked away. I've never killed anyone in my life despite many opportunities. I know when to walk away. I'm glad of that.
In my truck, I opened the envelope. I had been into my sixth year at RatMo. After five years they used to give you a company jacket (a windbreaker) but they had ceased that in 2000. Inside was a $100 savings bond to honor my fifth year. That was nice, I thought. The fucking bastards didn't HAVE to do that....
I bet they don't bother anymore.
That was, until George Bush came to power. There must have been a memo to all corporate heads that year.
"Fuck your employees! You DO NOT need to coddle them! DO NOT FEED THEM!!!!! DO NOT let them pass 'go' or collect $500 bonus's!!!!"
I would not be surprised if it did indeed read like that. Things DID change with Bush. We still had our reviews but, instead of generously rounding it off to 50 cents, if your raise percentage was 47 cents, that's what you got. Imagine a company being so cheap as to chisel a man out of a $1.20 A WEEK! It's the thought that counts. Suddenly, they didn't think much of us. Bonus's, which had been about a weeks pay were grudgingly given out as a half a weeks pay. Worse, some fellas didn't get anything at all. Worser, the company rats got more.
Construction, like every job, is very competitive. Cutthroat. It got meaner. As shit rolled downhill from management, the rats climbed up on that shit. No doubt, management encouraged this. Lou and Little Jimmy, my supervisors, became less and less interested in supervising. It became a little more like "Lord Of The Flies" than it previously had been. The paint crew had always pretty much run itself as Lou was incompetent (NOT at all a painter) and Little Jimmy had his head and physical self south of Memphis at the casinos in Tunica much of the time. We were left to our own devices. Ratmo didn't have official foremen. I ran work more often than not because I was good and responsible. I treated my people pretty good. In the south, in construction, these isn't necessarily seen as a "good thing". I think the coal-black souls of many a plantation overseer were reincarnated in most of the foremen and superintendent wannabe's that I knew. The south is very hard on itself, the residue of a not-so civil war, I trust.
In 2000, they let all the finishers go. They kept Don, the superintendent, Wayne, a black guy who had sued the company and, thus, they were afraid to fire him, and a young, under paid kid. The bulk of the sheetrock finishing was then subbed out to a company that employed illegals on a day labor type basis. This absolved the company from the nuisance of insurance, workman's comp and all the little unpleasantries that unions fought decades for.
It was a shock. We had long known that the company fantasy was to fire EVERYONE save for a couple of people in the office and sub out all the work to other companies. We just never figured it would actually happen. Long story but, RatMo did 90% of it's business with one powerful man and his family who appreciated the hands on, GET IT DONE NOW! dedication that you just don't get with sub-contractors. RatMo jumped for them, never asking how high. Subs will "get right on that....tomorrow...."
It was a stupid move, probably fiscally brilliant but, stupid. From the moment the finishers were fired, we were warned that we *could* be next. It was fatherly advice at first but, soon enough, it became a threat and then a promise. A "Good morning" to Little Jimmy was often met with: "You motherfuckers can ALL be replaced with Mexicans!". How that little prick survived us is amazing. He was five-foot- nothing. We were all fully grown men. A lot of eye-rolling and sighs, mixed with a good helping of fuck you's was our typical response.
If it got nasty when Bush took office, it got really mean after 9/11/01. Little Jimmy put the screws to us then. We became more aware of our expendability. Even Lou, the *good boss* distanced himself even further from us. The once good job became daily harassment. NOTHING we did was good enough. We were killing the company. We all just sucked. (Some literally figuratively, I'm pretty damn sure....)
On February 1st, 2002, a select group of 14 of us were called to meet in the parking lot of the paint store. That adage about sitting at the poker table and not seeing a chump made you the chump, came to mind. I saw 13 chumps. We all saw 13 chumps.
Little Jimmy was nervous. He'd been running his mouth and getting his ass beat all his life. I'm sure he felt an ass-whuppin' coming that morning. I knew I wasn't going to do it though I might have surprised myself. I was more surprised but nonetheless pleased that none of my fellow chumps made a move on him. He wasn't worth it. Even when he opened up with: "Well, because of Osama Bin Laden and 911...."
He got THAT out of his mouth before I let go with: "You motherfucker! Don't give me that 'Bin Laden' shit! THIS is what you've got after 6 years!!??"
He replied that he didn't know what I was talking about...this wasn't personal.....just business..... work was slow.....
"Shut the fuck up!" I grabbed my last check out of his fat little hand and walked away. I've never killed anyone in my life despite many opportunities. I know when to walk away. I'm glad of that.
In my truck, I opened the envelope. I had been into my sixth year at RatMo. After five years they used to give you a company jacket (a windbreaker) but they had ceased that in 2000. Inside was a $100 savings bond to honor my fifth year. That was nice, I thought. The fucking bastards didn't HAVE to do that....
I bet they don't bother anymore.
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