On Strike

A huge supermarket chain I worked for was going on strike. A group of us who weren’t protected by a union were called telephone coordinators. We wrote down grocery lists for seniors or housebound folks for delivery of groceries. Later, they gave us computers.

We received regular raises and paid vacations like everyone else in the union. To all appearances we were part of a large family conglomerate.

When it came time that the in store workers were striking, we were the ones expected to replace their jobs to keep the stores up and running, because, after all, we weren’t part of the union.

Just before the strike god sent Ellen to work for us. Everywhere Ellen went she spoke about unions and how it was a good thing to be in one. Most of us had more worries than thinking about office politics and so we’d nod our head politely and say we’d think about what she was telling us. The management kept a suspicious eye on Ellen but she knew she had freedom of speech as long as she didn’t talk about organizing a union during office hours, she could still talk on her breaks or lunchtime or outside the building.

There were around a 100 of us teleshopper operators. As rumors of the strike began, we all took a turn getting trained on the cash register. We had two choices presented to us; either we go into the stores as cashiers or we could become drivers, chaperoning incoming labor replacements into the stores from the airport in a vehicle provided by the company. They told us our department would temporarily close down in the event of a strike and drawing unemployment was discouraged as that would mean possibly the loss of a secure job at the end of the strike when our department reopened. I had a certain amount of job loyalty towards this company as I had always been treated good insofar as monetary compensation and benefits but at the time of the strike I began to feel owned by the company, like I had no say but to do as told.

I was explaining to Ellen one day that something was wrong with me lately. While driving on the freeway I had several times experienced panic attacks and was afraid I would get into an accident. These attacks came out of nowhere with seemingly no logic or reason. Ellen volunteered it was called vertigo.