It's a painful picture: Retail corporate slavery alive and fully in action

The battered economy and my on-going faulty eyeball issues have definitely had me munching on my share of humble pie this year. This time last year, I thought that by now I'd be the proud owner of a slightly used, but brand new to me cornea and madly typing out stories, marketing spins, or whatever else I had been doing before my vision in my left eye began to slowly darken.

Nope. Not yet. Instead, I've been dealing with sky-rocketing glaucoma, blurry vision, headaches and little ability to spend quality time on my computer. Couldn't handle the monitor glare, rendering me unable to keep my consulting gigs regular and up-to-date, and my checking account looking bleak. With my saved up surgery year funds almost depleted, I recently sought out a lousy paying part-time job at a large retail department store that I shall now refer to as 'Jack's.'

Guaranteed low wages to help somewhat cover my ever rising NC Blue Cross Blue Shield premiums. (I dared to use the policy this year, and therefore am being punished with an above average premium 'cost adjustment,' in my opinion. I don't care what *they* say.) Just enough hours to keep you coming back in, settling into the shuffle of a “Jack's Retail Robotron.”

The shuffle sets in at about the fifth hour of any shift that places you doing anything in the store other than ringing up the goods, collecting the cash and reminding the exuberant shopper just how much money they had saved that day by shopping at Jack's. When you’re behind the cash register, you’re at least standing in one spot, even if you do have to ask for permission to go to the bathroom or to get a drink of water. Jack’s is colossal and I truly believe the linoleum floor has not a stitch of padding underneath. The shock absorbing shoes didn't relieve my aching feet, nor did the Dr. Scholl's insets I added for super extra cushiony comfort.

These types of jobs are simply corporate forms of slave labor, in my opinion. My body physically hurt all over. All I wanted to do was get home, soak in a tub full of Epsom salts then fall out for the night hoping my body would be less painful the next day. At first, I thought I was the only robotron who felt wounded. After all my energy has been zapped far more than I care to admit with surgeries and expensive eye drops with not so lovely side affects.

However, I was not alone. As I became an expected and welcomed part of the daily grind, others shared their own pains of Jack's torture. They confessed to also feeling that on some nights it was a matter of finding a personal Zen spot and putting one foot in front of the other to get through the shift. It didn't take a lot of brainpower to hang up clothes or fold and refold clothes that inattentive adults, teenagers, parents and spoiled children had slung down in dressing rooms or shoved off shelves.

The majority of the employees are decent people, just trying to eke out a living and they take pride in performing their jobs to the best of their abilities. They possess much more monetary value than they are given. But Jack's is not about recognizing their loyal employees. Too bad. No surprise that turnover is so steep.  


To push my corporate serfdom theory further, the managers set daily credit and email goals. One youthful, mid-management climber even talked a young, pregnant employee making minimum wage pay to open an account with a 25 percent interest charge, just so he could reach that day's credit goal. And, why? So he and the other overseers could collect their end of year bonuses. What did the hourly employee get for their labor, besides a measly paycheck that never quite covered weekly expenses? Nothing. Just more prodding and being pushed over and over to possess the 'yes you can' attitude when it came to signing up more Jack's credit card holders.

I was thankful for the next to nothing wages that reminded me of my teenage jobs. I even heard the words “no shame in having legit work” come out of my mouth, telling my son, 'times are hard; sometimes you do just have to take any lawful job you can find,' on and on and on. But I'm even more thankful to no longer be in the retail shuffle since I've had another eye surgery.

To my friends still working there ... I wish you a Merry Christmas. I hope you can take advantage of getting just up to, but no more than, 40 hours (company policy – no over time pay allowed) while the season is upon us. January will be here soon and the hours will drop off and you’ll be lucky if you get eleven hours of work each week. I hope you're able to save up some of the extra money, but I know that will be most difficult. But above all else ... I wish you could tell those Jack's pit bosses to take those nightly credit goals and shove them where the sun don't shine.