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.

It was explained to me if I refused to cross the picket line and also refused to chaperone and if I had a medical reason for not doing either choice, I had to go get a doctor’s release and then possibly I would be let off the hook insofar as drawing unemployment,

I had seen a doctor only once in my entire life, when the kids were born and I had no intention of having someone confirm I had vertigo, for that would make disease real to me. I was hoping it would just go away and it finally did, but even to this day I avoid congested freeways if I can.

I knew I couldn’t take the negativity of crossing a picket line, nor would I subject unsuspecting persons to a panic stricken chaperone.

I drew unemployment. So did Ellen. The rest of the troupe trooped off to their stations of well paid status.

Months go by and the strike drags on. One day I get a notice that my company wants me to pay back all the unemployment checks which had been spent of course. Ellen was never called on drawing it and if I remember correctly she had a doctor’s release.

My hearing was set up and I asked her to go with me for emotional support. She said sure, no problem. We walked up to the court steps and she whispered that I looked like a rabbit going to slaughter and to pull myself together.

I didn’t pull it together but I was glad she mentioned it and that she was there to speak for me in case I was asked why I didn’t take the position offered during the strike.

I always took everything personally. She would teach me that this was just business as usual, an open and shut case. I was just playing a role, and a very reluctant role at that.

One of our office managers showed up with 3 imposing lawyers by her side. This lady had a straight line for a lip and I never saw her smile or laugh in 6 years. It was a David and Goliath story unfolding.

The hearing took maybe 15 minutes with the mediator trying hard to not show his pleasure too much to the reps of the giant industry as he read them my rights written down in black and white.

A worker has the right to refuse to cross a picket line and they can also turn down the other work offered to them, if that work has nothing to do with what they were trained to do in the first place, which in my case was to answer phones.

He explained I was within my rights to draw unemployment and they could not threaten to not hire me back after the strike. Apparently I was also within my rights to not have secured a doctor’s release.

So I never had to bring up the vertigo thing, it was a moot point all along. Ellen slapped me on the back saying “see, I told you!”

Time passed and Ellen said I should go back to work with her there. Teleshopper dept was up and running again. The whole place was buzzing that we had drawn unemployment and gotten away with it. I would be like a hero or something if I walked in now. Ellen was happy with the situation and was still doing her pep talks.

I didn’t go back. I’d been burned out on the work long before the strike issue came up. Later, teleshopper dept closed down I heard from Ellen.

All the little old ladies would have to find another delivery service to their door; I thought that was sad.

They never got unionized either, Ellen couldn’t get enough signatures although she was close. It was never the purpose of the company to accept us into their union policy. They told us the $10 charge for selecting and delivering groceries to the customer was not breaking even for the store, but funny it took them ten years to tally up the figures.

Since I had worked for this company close to 6 years I went through some sort of identity crisis shortly after teleshopper revived itself. I didn’t realize how my emotions, my ability to take everything in a personal way was to effect my immune system, my physical health. I contacted what I surmise was pneumonia. I slept around the clock arising only for bathroom trips for 3 weeks or so, I lost track of time; I could barely raise my head from the pillow. I finally admitted to myself I had let this company own me and now was suffering the consequences with this identity crash. I didn’t know who I was anymore as I had been a good worker to myself, but not a good worker to the company. I came out of the illness slowly and felt stronger for it. I got another job which paid hardly anything but regained a sense of myself as a person who had something of value to contribute to the work force.

I don’t know where Ellen is now; maybe organizing another union-she was a strong woman I looked up to.I see Ellen’s soul the way this image above depicts the sword of truth as she led me up the courtroom steps where I believed certain doom awaited a mere worker. From now on I would never work just for the money. I would only work in places where the work environment was conducive to a spirit that everyone’s voice was important and everyone’s opinion considered and asked for. I would never let money and that false security own me the rest of my life. I was free at last.