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.

Christmas tree stuffed with ornaments made by tiny hands that have totally outgrown mine

I sit here in the quiet of our small living room, enjoying the colored glow from the not-so-large tree purchased from a friend whose family has been growing Christmas trees for generations in these mountains. Ours is not one that would be featured in Better Homes & Garden. It is much more superior. It is stuffed with ornaments I will cherish forever, made by tiny hands that have now totally outgrown mine. One day I will pass along that favorite glittered bread dough star. My eyes will overflow with tears of joy and sadness that a mother embraces. My little boy no longer needs that chair to help him place the Christmas star. I only pray he will always need me.

(This is a rewrite from one of my 2009 facebook posts. Still working on getting this year's tree done. The little boy who no longer needs that chair? He's a teenager with a broken ankle and needs help staying steady on his crutches.)

Forbidden glimpse of Santa Clause at the Christmas tree was really just one of God's children trying to keep warm

It was this kind of frigid cold when we moved to Western North Carolina in 1985 from Baton Rouge, Louisiana. Lived in Waynesville in a most beautiful 2-story, 5-br farmhouse that was almost 100 years old. The upstairs was literally blocked off during the winter time. The owner, Ms. Beulah, had moved there in a horse drawn covered wagon when she was 13-years-old from a very, very remote area of Haywood County that is still mostly occupied by old-timers with surnames that go back for generations in those parts. We had a kerosene heater set up in the kitchen, cabinet doors slung wide open to keep the pipes from freezing. At some point, I walked in and saw a mouse sitting in front of it.

Of course this was long before the advent of cell phones with instant cameras, so I have only my memory to keep it real. But, that's enough for me. He was sitting on his hind legs and in the beautiful, soft glow of the kerosene light, it looked to me like he had his little front paws up, warming them just like anyone else who stands near an open fire when dealing with cold weather. Of course, I could be making that part up just because I like the image it makes. But I don't think so. Anyways .... he ran as soon as I got close enough to get a good look at him. Back to his mouse house, hidden somewhere far enough inside one of those cabinets that I certainly never saw him again. I did go grab my 35 mm camera just in case I caught him sitting fireside once again, but he never let me. Now that I think back, I sort of felt like I caught a forbidden glimpse of Santa Clause at the Christmas tree or something.

But no, it was just one God's children trying to keep warm.

Did Asheville close schools because of the roads? Or, is there more to that decision?

Well, here we go again. Schools in Asheville have canceled today. Yet, I look outside and see just a dusting of snow and clear roads. Now, granted, there are areas that did get a few inches overnight and the roads had frozen. Icy roads are not easy for anyone to drive on, much less school buses. But, I still think there could have been at least a late start. The majority of students could have made it to school by 10:30 this morning. And for those who could not, then they could have been excused and given notes they missed.


I guess there is some reason for concern, however. Although there have been no issues recently with school bus drivers, Asheville City Transit drivers have had some bad accidents lately.... running over a lady which resulted in her losing her legs, hitting an elderly gentleman who died due to his injuries and some dude driving drunk. The City needs to be sued for those instances, in my opinion. They did settle with the woman who had to have her legs cut off. She was awarded $80,000. Not very much if you ask me. What kind of life is she going to have (don't remember her age) and is $80,000 really going to be all that she needs? And remember, her attorney got a third of that settlement, leaving her with much less.


But, back to the school buses. Asheville and Buncombe County are just not prepared for any type of bad weather. And I don't understand why. We live in the mountains, people. It snows. Some years more than others, but it does snow and we know there are roads that have issues and need more attention than others. Why haven't we spent the money to keep our roads clear? Perhaps if our City Council and County Commissioners had not given so many tax breaks to outside developers over the years to tear down our mountains, we could have bought a few more plows. What a concept, eh? Choosing our children over the developers. Won't happen. Not in Asheville, anyway.

Remembering the first in Asheville to lose their life to AIDS

I've been avoiding putting today's thoughts down on paper because if I go too far, it'll throw me back over an edge I climbed back from years ago. A place I never want to visit again. Dennis immediately became my best friend in Asheville soon after we moved here in 1985. And he's the first person I ever heard call Asheville, Ashevegas. He was a bartender at the old O.Henry's in downtown Asheville when just about everything around it was boarded up. My husband had introduced me to the place as the 'closest thing Asheville has to a New Orleans bar.' He was right. It became our neighborhood pub and was close to the newspaper where he worked. It was a bar full of characters, including a young reporter for Channel 4, and other interesting types. Real freaks of Asheville, including us.

Dennis came down with HIV in the early '90s and although he accepted that *positive* status and stigma , he never wanted to think about what it would be like when the time would come that he might have to experience full blown AIDS. He couldn't; so he didn't. He turned to drugs and alcohol.

Dennis blew his brains out about 13 years ago because he'd rather die by his own hand than wither away with AIDS and have to have his lover of umpteen years change his dirty diaper. They lived in Tennessee at the time. It hurt a lot of us bad. To the core bad. It was a selfish act to go that way, particularly since he left no note and he could've gotten some help. He wasn't at death's door yet. I cried for months and numbed myself with far too much alcohol, particularly when his ex and I would get together, at the cabin where they had lived. I couldn't deal with that place. Every time I'd go out on the front porch, I'd start looking for little pieces of brain matter or some other part of Dennis that might have been left behind.

Finally, I had to stop going to visit. For my own health - mental and physical. We'd still talk on the phone quite often and eventually he moved also. I don't booze it and bawl anymore, but I do think of Dennis quite often. Sometimes with a tear. Other times, with a smile. Always with a 'I wish you were here to see this.' I no longer can say whether it was a selfish act or not, though I tend to fall on that side when I see how his suicide has forever affected his partner. But other times I realize it was his life. His death. His choice to make at the time.

I also remember a lot of other people who went before Dennis, and after. I remember the time when one of the first infected who came home to Asheville to die was mourned at O.Henry's. His name was Charlie. Tommy was the first person in Asheville to die of AIDS. I didn't have the honor of knowing him, but his name was always mentioned at anyone's wake and funeral who succumbed afterwards. I have a friend who has a list. She quit counting at 181.

Thank goodness not everyone took the same path as my friend Dennis. But, many did die because there was no cure nor medicine to prolong their life at the time. It's a whole new world today and no one should ever have to die of this horrible disease again.

There is a Candlelight Memorial Vigil tonight, Dec., 1, 7-9 pm on the lower promenade of Pack Place, in Asheville. If you can find the time, please come and show your support for the fight to kill AIDS, or just to remember a loved one no longer with you. Whatever the reason. And, if you can't make the event, please give a moment of silence to think about the more than 25 million people who have died worldwide due to AIDS.

For more info: http://www.facebook.com/pages/Western-North-Carolina-AIDS-Project/286586386014

Really? I have to go shopping while my eyeball is still healing and irritated?

Really? I have to go shopping while my eyeball is still healing and irritated? Ok. I'm very thankful and honored the boys just HAVE TO HAVE two of my Holiday recipes. One of them really is worth making me get out. It's a recipe for a sweet potato casserole that has lots of pecans, crushed cornflakes, and brown sugar. Although the sweet potatoes and pecans are quite good for you, all of the butter, sugar and brown sugar wipe out the healthy part. Or, maybe they balance each other. Who knows? Who cares? It's just downright devilicious. The other dish is one that I'm sure is on everyone's table at this time of year, macaroni and cheese. However this one is the dee-luxe version that includes sour cream and cottage cheese. Another fattening, but oh so tasty, worth the calories, etc. kind of fare. And to be honest, the guys have volunteered to help with the cooking and clean-up.


But ... I'm wishing, yet once again, that my name were Samantha and I held magical powers, and could twitch my nose and skip the grocery lines.


Happy Thanksgiving everyone!

"In a few years" is going to come way too soon

Zach being on crutches has handicapped the entire household. He really helps out quite a bit around here. Chores that became his: kitchen trash duty; getting the recycling ready for pick-up, then bringing the empty containers back inside; making sure the street trash container makes it to the curb and then returns to its hidden home behind the bushes; mowing the yard; getting the leaves mulched at this time of year; turning down my boiling over water in the kitchen when I have walked away and started doing something else; checking the pressure in my tires; and more. In other words, the little bugger is very much a part of what makes the Hyorth household work each day.

I realize now how I've just gotten used to him doing what he's supposed to do. Sure, he has to be reminded sometimes, but don't we all? It's also a huge, in-the-face, get ready message to mom that her not so little boy/young man will be leaving home in a few years. And, I'm just not ready for that day. Never thought I'd hear myself say that out loud. I'm proud of my independent streak and I've often downright bragged about leaving home at 18 and never having had to return and move back in. Looking back, I left home way too soon and for all the wrong reasons, but that's a tale for another time.

What I realize today, is that maybe instead of reminding with the mother tone that says "Zach ....", perhaps I need to remember just how much he does help. Remind him that his taking care of certain chores has given him a sense of responsibility that has earned our trust. I also need to hug him more often. "In a few years" is going to come way too soon, I suspect.

Gotta go ... I hear the water boiling.