The Contract (draft 1)
It was the end of another long week of work, and I was ready to finally have some extra time off. I was finishing loading up the last few boxes into a truck when my manager’s, Mr. Campbell’s, shiny, black convertible pulled up next to me in the parking lot. As he stepped out, he locked eyes with me but didn’t say anything. He walked into the warehouse and ordered everyone to meet him in the front of the building.
“I’d like to thank everyone for the hard work they’ve done this summer. We couldn’t have kept the company going without you guys. However, unfortunately, we have a lot of extra orders to cover this weekend. You may take the time off for Labor Day, but none of you will be getting paid.”
A few people’s eyes widened when they heard that, but most of us were used to it. All of us should have been able to get the time off, but there wasn’t any choice if we wanted to get paid. I couldn’t afford it. I had to make enough money to pay my rent and figure out how to pay for college. It’s not easy, though, when you’re only making twelve dollars an hour, so I had to work as many hours as I possibly could. Most days, I had to work at least twelve hours a day. Sometimes, I even had to work longer and take the night shifts. Most of the time I wasn’t even given a choice in the matter.
“Anaya,” my manager said.
“Yes, sir?”
“You’ve been falling behind on your work lately. I’m going to need you to step up your game, or I’ll have to cut your pay.”
“What?” I asked, “you can’t do that! I haven't been doing less work than normal.”
“Yes, I can. Remember that contract you signed?” He reached into the brown satchel he always carried and pulled out a paper with writing printed on it. At the bottom of the paper was my name.
I wanted to argue, but I couldn’t. I signed that. I didn’t remember reading anything about that in the contract I signed, but apparently he didn’t care whether I read it or not.
He stuffed the paper back into his bag. “Now,” he addressed everyone, “get back to work. I expect everyone to be working as hard as they possibly can. Your wage is on the line.”
Needless to say, he assigned me to the night shift for multiple days in a row. I didn’t know how I’d be able to manage that. I felt so much anger at him; I wanted to rip up my contract. That was it! I could rip up my contract and then I could get out of this. All I had to do was get the contract from Campbell’s bag, but there was no way I would be able to do that. I was crazy. I couldn’t leave this job; it was my only source of income. How would I pay off my rent? How would I eventually be able to afford college? How would I afford my health insurance? I could find another job, I suppose, but weren’t they all like this? At least, any of the ones that would employ me with the education I had.
I started this job less than two years ago, and since then, I must have lost at least 30 pounds. I couldn’t afford to buy a decent meal. The job was also soul-crushing. I was lifting boxes and walking back and forth in the dusty warehouse for hours on end. My body felt as if it had aged by 50 years in the span of less than two; as if I were developing early arthritis. I didn’t know how I’d be able to make it through so many more hours of work. I mean, I could barely make it through the week as it was.
That night was cold, and I didn’t have a jacket. The warehouse was dark and musty. A few lights hung from the ceiling, but they were dimmed so it was hard to even see in front of me. When I went to reach for items on the shelves, I’d always end up with my hand stuck in a cobweb. It was hard to even find my way around all the boxes, some empty and some not. There weren’t many other people on my shift with me, and the few people that were there were too exhausted to talk anyway. During the day, we weren’t supposed to talk, or even interact with each other, because it was seen as a waste of our time. Of course, we could help each other with lifting boxes, but not much more than that. We were always on a time limit too. We had to get done scanning items within a certain amount of time, whether during the day or at night. I suppose I may have been falling behind on that. That night, the time ran out before I finished. It wasn’t looking so good for my pay. I quickly finished scanning everything I needed to, and slumped down against one of the large boxes sitting on the hard, concrete floor. I was cold and shivering, and also hungry, but still more exhausted than anything.
I didn’t remember falling asleep, but I must have. I woke up to a jab at my stomach and the face of my manager staring down at me. “You tired?” He asked me.
I was barely awake, and my vision was blurry, but I nodded my head.
“Get back to work.” He kicked me in the stomach again.
I stood up slowly, clutching my side from the dull pain he’d induced. My head still felt foggy, but I was alert. That’s when I remembered that I never finished my work last night. Campbell obviously wasn’t happy with me.
I hadn’t eaten in almost a day, but by that afternoon, it was finally time for my break. My manager called me over again. I knew I was in trouble.
“Ms. Leyton, I think we need to have a talk about your contract.”
“Why?” I asked.
“You’re not following the terms and conditions of the Newave company. We expect you to always be putting forth your hardest work. This isn’t your best work. Until you can do that, I’ll be cutting your wage to ten dollars an hour.”
I stared at him in shock. “What?”
“I’m sorry, but you haven’t been able to meet our requirements. Do better.”
“But-”
“Sorry, no questions. Have a nice day.”
Now, I only understood one thing: I had to get the contract from him. He always kept his bag in his car when he was here, but I wasn’t sure how to get it. I walked into the back parking lot to have a look, and there it was, sitting in the backseat of his convertible. I glanced around cautiously. I didn’t want to get caught by him, not after the way he’d treated me. I considered reaching into the car and taking the bag. There was nothing stopping me. Just as I was about to take it, I remembered a time when I was younger. My family was so poor, we were almost homeless. The small house we lived in was slowly rotting and falling apart. My parents could never afford to buy me any toys or games. My hands retreated from the car, and I decided to head off to buy myself a small meal instead.
I kept myself awake that night, but by the time I finally got to my apartment, I was so weak and tired that I fell asleep as soon as my head hit my pillow. I didn’t even eat dinner. And in the morning, when my alarm went off, my muscles were so sore that I could barely pull myself up, but I was able to make my way over to my bathroom cabinet and take some painkillers. The pain was so bad, I couldn’t eat. I felt nauseous.
I was running late for work. I had to run to catch the bus. I didn’t see Campbell when I was there, so I figured I was okay. I could just pretend like I arrived here on time. It wasn’t a big deal. I would’ve forgotten it was Labor Day if I hadn’t been reminded of it by an older woman I sat next to on the bus. Almost no one at work took the day off, and rightfully so. I walked out to the back parking lot, and Campbell’s car was here. Maybe he was out somewhere, but it was strange. I noticed a box placed next to the cement walls of the building, and I walked over to bring it inside, but noticed that someone had opened the seals on it. Curious, I took a look inside it. At the bottom of the box was a printed paper covered in writing. And there was my signature at the very bottom: Anaya Leyton. I didn’t know why it was here, but this was my chance. I forgot about why I was here and what I was working towards; I only felt anger. I grabbed the paper and tried to rip it, but I couldn’t. No matter how many times I tried to tear it and twist it, the paper remained perfect and unwrinkled.
“You didn’t read the fine print when you signed it,” a man’s voice came from behind me and made me jump. It was Campbell. “You can’t escape this, no matter where you go. We always have to keep working, remember?”
I stared at the paper, my head pounding and my body full of built-up rage. That can’t be true, I thought, but it was. I would be trapped until the day I died.
“I’d like to thank everyone for the hard work they’ve done this summer. We couldn’t have kept the company going without you guys. However, unfortunately, we have a lot of extra orders to cover this weekend. You may take the time off for Labor Day, but none of you will be getting paid.”
A few people’s eyes widened when they heard that, but most of us were used to it. All of us should have been able to get the time off, but there wasn’t any choice if we wanted to get paid. I couldn’t afford it. I had to make enough money to pay my rent and figure out how to pay for college. It’s not easy, though, when you’re only making twelve dollars an hour, so I had to work as many hours as I possibly could. Most days, I had to work at least twelve hours a day. Sometimes, I even had to work longer and take the night shifts. Most of the time I wasn’t even given a choice in the matter.
“Anaya,” my manager said.
“Yes, sir?”
“You’ve been falling behind on your work lately. I’m going to need you to step up your game, or I’ll have to cut your pay.”
“What?” I asked, “you can’t do that! I haven't been doing less work than normal.”
“Yes, I can. Remember that contract you signed?” He reached into the brown satchel he always carried and pulled out a paper with writing printed on it. At the bottom of the paper was my name.
I wanted to argue, but I couldn’t. I signed that. I didn’t remember reading anything about that in the contract I signed, but apparently he didn’t care whether I read it or not.
He stuffed the paper back into his bag. “Now,” he addressed everyone, “get back to work. I expect everyone to be working as hard as they possibly can. Your wage is on the line.”
Needless to say, he assigned me to the night shift for multiple days in a row. I didn’t know how I’d be able to manage that. I felt so much anger at him; I wanted to rip up my contract. That was it! I could rip up my contract and then I could get out of this. All I had to do was get the contract from Campbell’s bag, but there was no way I would be able to do that. I was crazy. I couldn’t leave this job; it was my only source of income. How would I pay off my rent? How would I eventually be able to afford college? How would I afford my health insurance? I could find another job, I suppose, but weren’t they all like this? At least, any of the ones that would employ me with the education I had.
I started this job less than two years ago, and since then, I must have lost at least 30 pounds. I couldn’t afford to buy a decent meal. The job was also soul-crushing. I was lifting boxes and walking back and forth in the dusty warehouse for hours on end. My body felt as if it had aged by 50 years in the span of less than two; as if I were developing early arthritis. I didn’t know how I’d be able to make it through so many more hours of work. I mean, I could barely make it through the week as it was.
That night was cold, and I didn’t have a jacket. The warehouse was dark and musty. A few lights hung from the ceiling, but they were dimmed so it was hard to even see in front of me. When I went to reach for items on the shelves, I’d always end up with my hand stuck in a cobweb. It was hard to even find my way around all the boxes, some empty and some not. There weren’t many other people on my shift with me, and the few people that were there were too exhausted to talk anyway. During the day, we weren’t supposed to talk, or even interact with each other, because it was seen as a waste of our time. Of course, we could help each other with lifting boxes, but not much more than that. We were always on a time limit too. We had to get done scanning items within a certain amount of time, whether during the day or at night. I suppose I may have been falling behind on that. That night, the time ran out before I finished. It wasn’t looking so good for my pay. I quickly finished scanning everything I needed to, and slumped down against one of the large boxes sitting on the hard, concrete floor. I was cold and shivering, and also hungry, but still more exhausted than anything.
I didn’t remember falling asleep, but I must have. I woke up to a jab at my stomach and the face of my manager staring down at me. “You tired?” He asked me.
I was barely awake, and my vision was blurry, but I nodded my head.
“Get back to work.” He kicked me in the stomach again.
I stood up slowly, clutching my side from the dull pain he’d induced. My head still felt foggy, but I was alert. That’s when I remembered that I never finished my work last night. Campbell obviously wasn’t happy with me.
I hadn’t eaten in almost a day, but by that afternoon, it was finally time for my break. My manager called me over again. I knew I was in trouble.
“Ms. Leyton, I think we need to have a talk about your contract.”
“Why?” I asked.
“You’re not following the terms and conditions of the Newave company. We expect you to always be putting forth your hardest work. This isn’t your best work. Until you can do that, I’ll be cutting your wage to ten dollars an hour.”
I stared at him in shock. “What?”
“I’m sorry, but you haven’t been able to meet our requirements. Do better.”
“But-”
“Sorry, no questions. Have a nice day.”
Now, I only understood one thing: I had to get the contract from him. He always kept his bag in his car when he was here, but I wasn’t sure how to get it. I walked into the back parking lot to have a look, and there it was, sitting in the backseat of his convertible. I glanced around cautiously. I didn’t want to get caught by him, not after the way he’d treated me. I considered reaching into the car and taking the bag. There was nothing stopping me. Just as I was about to take it, I remembered a time when I was younger. My family was so poor, we were almost homeless. The small house we lived in was slowly rotting and falling apart. My parents could never afford to buy me any toys or games. My hands retreated from the car, and I decided to head off to buy myself a small meal instead.
I kept myself awake that night, but by the time I finally got to my apartment, I was so weak and tired that I fell asleep as soon as my head hit my pillow. I didn’t even eat dinner. And in the morning, when my alarm went off, my muscles were so sore that I could barely pull myself up, but I was able to make my way over to my bathroom cabinet and take some painkillers. The pain was so bad, I couldn’t eat. I felt nauseous.
I was running late for work. I had to run to catch the bus. I didn’t see Campbell when I was there, so I figured I was okay. I could just pretend like I arrived here on time. It wasn’t a big deal. I would’ve forgotten it was Labor Day if I hadn’t been reminded of it by an older woman I sat next to on the bus. Almost no one at work took the day off, and rightfully so. I walked out to the back parking lot, and Campbell’s car was here. Maybe he was out somewhere, but it was strange. I noticed a box placed next to the cement walls of the building, and I walked over to bring it inside, but noticed that someone had opened the seals on it. Curious, I took a look inside it. At the bottom of the box was a printed paper covered in writing. And there was my signature at the very bottom: Anaya Leyton. I didn’t know why it was here, but this was my chance. I forgot about why I was here and what I was working towards; I only felt anger. I grabbed the paper and tried to rip it, but I couldn’t. No matter how many times I tried to tear it and twist it, the paper remained perfect and unwrinkled.
“You didn’t read the fine print when you signed it,” a man’s voice came from behind me and made me jump. It was Campbell. “You can’t escape this, no matter where you go. We always have to keep working, remember?”
I stared at the paper, my head pounding and my body full of built-up rage. That can’t be true, I thought, but it was. I would be trapped until the day I died.
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