I got a new job yesterday. It's a part-time job, and actually pays a dollar less per hour than my very first professional writing gig, but it's a technology writing job in the year 2002 so I'm happy to have it. That's partially because I'm getting really goddamn tired of getting treated like poop in the blue- and pink-collar sectors. Just today, I was returning from a banquet temp gig (yes, there are temp agencies for waitstaff and bartenders) on the T, in my stupid penguin-suit vest-and-bowtie banquet uniform, reading Stephen King, and the pity and condescension from my fellow riders was pretty tangible. Haven't these people ever had to wear a uniform to work? And what do *they* read on the subway, Euripedes? Do they think it's really that contemptible to work for a living, or that I'm instantly stupid and unskilled because I do it (sometimes)? I'm just sitting there like Hal Incandenza in Infinite Jest thinking, "I am not what you see and hear. I'm not."

(Actually, I'd like to keep up the waitstaff/bar gigs, because that's a good skillset to have in your back pocket, and occasionally these jobs are halfway fun. But I digress.)

Point is, people with jobs and/or money and/or a certain social class/education level are really rude and sh*tty to people who they perceive as being without those things. This is a simple fact. Two examples, one short and one long. The short one is that I went to one of my administrative temp agencies recently and sat in the lobby at 8am. You do this so when a company has an emergency and needs a temp, you're sitting right in the office, the agency doesn't have to make any calls, and you get sent out immediately. Usually, one tells the receptionist of one's existence, then a staff member comes out and says hello. Then by 10am, a staff member either sends you on a gig or comes back out and apologizes for there being no work. This time, it was 9:50 and I'd heard nothing from anyone. I went up the receptionist and asked what was up. "We're actually dealing with something else right now," she said. (Their Net connection was down, everyone had been whining about it all morning). Before I could bitch-slap her into the agency's Braintree office, she saw the look on my face and hastily added, "But I'll call and see what's up." She called some staffer or another, then hung up and said. "Yeah, there's no work for you." No "sorry," no "thanks for coming," just "no work," f*ck you very much. I hope the nice middle-aged lady filling out an application saw and heard my entire plight so she doesn't get her hopes up too high about the wonderful world of administrative temping.

I've also recently journeyed into the bowels of UPS. I answered one of their newspaper ads, thinking of picking up a couple extra bucks on the night shift for a while. It pays like a low-skill job, but it also pays more than sitting on the couch, and I need (capital N, *Need*) every dime I can for the next few months.

The "tour" for potential employees began when our HR woman, who I'll call "Joan" because I'm paranoid about character defamation, took us from the cushy customer area into the loud, cavernous warehouse part of the building. The first thing she showed us is the only door employees are allowed to come through, which she doesn't actually refer to as the servants' entrance, but might as well. She also showed us the metal detectors, "so you don't steal from us, basically." (I also experienced this years ago on a back-to-school temp gig for Barnes & Noble's textbook section, where they had a servants' entrance and also searched you on the way out. That's where I learned the nice-nice corporate euphemism "loss prevention." I used to go in the front door anyway.)

Next, she gave UPS' version of a recruitment speech. "Hours are 6pm to 9pm, sometimes 9:15," she said, "Don't ask for more than that, you won't get it. Right before the holiday season you might work until 10, but assume 3 hours a day." Joan's email had said the shift was 6-10; I suppose that was the best-case scenario. "Pay is $8.50 an hour," she said, "Don't ask for more, you won't get it." That, at least, was as advertised. She later added that one type of package handling job paid $9.50 an hour if you could memorize every zip code in Massachusetts.

She further explained that to obtain this 15-hour a week job, you must join the union. Initiation fees are $500, and monthly dues are $47. This is automatically deducted from your paycheck. "For the first 6 months or so, you'll make about $50 a week," she said, "Don't work here to make big money. We pay crap." The payoff, she explained, is that if you make UPS your career, you can be driving a truck in two years, and the starting salary for that is $60,000. Sure, but UPS gets slave labor until then. Maybe if the gig paid more than minimum wage after union dues, UPS wouldn't have to worry so much about employee theft. Something tells me wringing significant (compared to $8.50/hour) sums of money out of half-time, low-wage workers is not what the labor movement had in mind when it created unions.

Throughout her speech, Joan swore. I swear, you swear, everybody swears, but this seemed rather unprofessional for corporate HR. If you're going to treat package handling as a serious long-haul career, treat the applicants like career people. Maybe she was just trying to prove that women can compete like tough guys in the blue-collar world. Or maybe she was just showing contempt for a bunch of strangers who were mostly poor (I assume) and not white.

I filled out an application because I wanted to stick around and see if there were any other anecdote-worthy indignities to be suffered at the hands of The Brown. But I decided that since I don't want to be driving a UPS truck in two years and simply need a little extra money *now*, I would not be joining the UPS Indentured Servant Squad.

We had to go through the metal detector on the way out.