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Management saw this coming months ago. They knew we were expanding. They knew we were bringing new machines on as fast as we could install them. They knew we needed a lot more people. A lot more. They knew that the quality inspectors, such as myself, would not be able to keep up with the workload.
Did they do anything?
No. Don't be stupid. Of course not. They act as though it all came about suddenly, as though we all woke up one day (or evening as the case may be for those of us on the night shift) went in and -- wowzers! -- there sure is a lot more running than there used to be! I guess we'll all have to double up and pitch in!
This is how some of my coworkers have come to be working 30+ days without a day off. Others have worked more than 20. This has been going on since the spring.
Meanwhile, I've avoided working any overtime at all, and for a very good reason. The great state of North Carolina pays to keep me alive because I have an incurable illness. They are not willing to pay to keep me alive, however, should my income rise above a certain level. I explained this to HR. I explained this, as humiliating as it was to have to do so, to my immediate supervisor -- when he came to me to ask about the letter I'd written making a formal request to drop my pay by $.45 an hour in order not to make too much.
And today? Another supervisor, who has been stalking me in the halls trying to get me to take some overtime ("You know you'll have to pick a day," she says, "So just get it over with and take one."), approached me just after shift ended and said, "You're working tomorrow night and Monday night."
"I'm going out of town on Wednesday," I said.
She scowled, sighed, rolled her eyes and said, "Then you're working Monday and Tuesday. I guess we'll have to find someone to cover for you Wednesday."
And as a result, I'm literally so angry I can't see straight. You know what, lady? Fuck you. You were the bitch who called me up last December 27th at precisely 9am to scream at me for going over your head to corporate when it looked like the deal you'd cobbled together with them to keep my income down for the year had fallen through. I have never forgiven nor forgotten that, nor will I. You screamed at me because I was scared. Now, despite you knowing my situation, you're forcing overtime on me, pushing me toward making too much money, and pushing me toward losing my health coverage.
Fuck you. For every two days of overtime you make me work, I'll have to take three days off sometime later this year. It will cost the company money then, just as it will cost you now to make me work overtime. Of course, that's if you all don't decide I'm not worth the fuss and just fire me.
So God damn you, your job, my job, and and this entire motherfucking factory. Every day when I'm getting ready for work I turn on the news in hopes of hearing that a fully-loaded 747 dropped straight down on the whole miserable place, but that never happens because God doesn't love me enough to ever let it happen.
Did they do anything?
No. Don't be stupid. Of course not. They act as though it all came about suddenly, as though we all woke up one day (or evening as the case may be for those of us on the night shift) went in and -- wowzers! -- there sure is a lot more running than there used to be! I guess we'll all have to double up and pitch in!
This is how some of my coworkers have come to be working 30+ days without a day off. Others have worked more than 20. This has been going on since the spring.
Meanwhile, I've avoided working any overtime at all, and for a very good reason. The great state of North Carolina pays to keep me alive because I have an incurable illness. They are not willing to pay to keep me alive, however, should my income rise above a certain level. I explained this to HR. I explained this, as humiliating as it was to have to do so, to my immediate supervisor -- when he came to me to ask about the letter I'd written making a formal request to drop my pay by $.45 an hour in order not to make too much.
And today? Another supervisor, who has been stalking me in the halls trying to get me to take some overtime ("You know you'll have to pick a day," she says, "So just get it over with and take one."), approached me just after shift ended and said, "You're working tomorrow night and Monday night."
"I'm going out of town on Wednesday," I said.
She scowled, sighed, rolled her eyes and said, "Then you're working Monday and Tuesday. I guess we'll have to find someone to cover for you Wednesday."
And as a result, I'm literally so angry I can't see straight. You know what, lady? Fuck you. You were the bitch who called me up last December 27th at precisely 9am to scream at me for going over your head to corporate when it looked like the deal you'd cobbled together with them to keep my income down for the year had fallen through. I have never forgiven nor forgotten that, nor will I. You screamed at me because I was scared. Now, despite you knowing my situation, you're forcing overtime on me, pushing me toward making too much money, and pushing me toward losing my health coverage.
Fuck you. For every two days of overtime you make me work, I'll have to take three days off sometime later this year. It will cost the company money then, just as it will cost you now to make me work overtime. Of course, that's if you all don't decide I'm not worth the fuss and just fire me.
So God damn you, your job, my job, and and this entire motherfucking factory. Every day when I'm getting ready for work I turn on the news in hopes of hearing that a fully-loaded 747 dropped straight down on the whole miserable place, but that never happens because God doesn't love me enough to ever let it happen.
She knows that it's your life on the line if you make too much and still try to force you?
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