Life is relative. What does that mean? It means that given any particular perspective, life can be better, or worse. For some, relativity has a rather narrow range. For example, someone reduced to living on the street can either say “How am I doing? You mean relative to being dead?” while easily imagining that life could be considerably better. For someone on the other end of the wealth spectrum, there comes a point where money itself becomes a relative concept, as in the difference between a lot of money and a lot more money; that person can, however, look at that man on the street and say “How am I doing? Relative to him, very well indeed.” Now, someone in the middle classes has a wider spectrum to consider; life could be better—or worse—in equal measure.
I was persuaded to undertake this mind game following a conversation with a fellow employee at work. As one might expect, there are different jobs with different responsibilities, and their relative merits are sometimes subject to debate and commentary, usually based on ignorance or pettiness. I spend 99 percent of my time outside, regardless of the weather conditions; from November to March, I’m usually on the verge of acquiring pneumonia because of the wet and cold. But I don’t complain, much. I just want to be left alone to do my job. Unfortunately, I have to tolerate remarks from people who are ignorant about what I do, and supervisors who tell me I can only do this or that to stay alert and peppy in the break room; it is no use at all to tell them that I am not able to do this. When they see me waiting for another load, they cannot conceptualize what I had to do to be in a position to wait. I have compiled a list of all the cargo I have delivered in the past 23 weeks—6,350 carts, an average of 276.1 per week. The past four weeks I delivered 1,232 carts, and average of 308 per week, an average of 77 per day. On five occasions I delivered over 100 carts. If they were lined-up five deep as they are in the staging area, they would extend an entire football field. Do people think they all disappear by magic? Since I am only allowed to haul three carts at a time, it would take about seven hours to deliver them all. Theoretically that leaves me three hours to “hang out” in the break room like everyone else can. But I cannot do this and perform my function as efficiently as the airline warehouse people tell me I do, quite opposed to what my own employers apparently believe. Unlike me, people in other jobs have the good fortune of predictability: They know when a flight comes in, and when it leaves; I, on the other hand, must deal with unpredictability. I have no influence on what the airline guys bring to me to me or when they do it. If it is brought too early, I have to find some way to get it out of the way top free-up space for more; if it comes too late, then I have to scramble and stress, because I’m usually the first person who comes to mind when in search of a scapegoat. It’s odd, but to me and the cargo warehouse employees, an empty staging area means a job well done; but to my own colleagues, it means I must have nothing to do.
And this is relative to what? I can tell you what I see: Rampers who spend half their time standing around, and when they are not, they are sitting in the break room watching TV, playing cards, playing with their I-pods or just bullshitting. I don’t blame them or even care—it is there business and that of their supervisors. But just don’t bother me with your “issues”—I have my own.
But this is all relativity of a kind. The “relativity” that was relevant to the conversation I was having with the above mentioned employee had to do with, what else? money. He told me he used to work for an airline union, and for basically doing the work typical of one of our ramp agents or baggage handlers, he made at one point $19 an hour. With help of double and even triple-time pay, he made nearly $70,000 one year. I didn’t let on, but I was staggered. Last year I made $22,000; this year I’m doing more work, but I’ll be making the same amount. If I made that kind of money for just one year, given my current budget requirements, I’d be set for life. I don’t begrudge anyone who can be compensated as such; I’ve said that on days that are wet, cold and miserable, I don’t think anyone should make more money that I do, and at least for a time, this guy was compensated commensurate for the work he did at least a couple hours a week.
Hmm. Well, maybe relativity isn’t quite the right concept in play here. I am doing the same work that six years ago another person was doing for double or triple the wage. Maybe the politics of income disparity or such concepts as fair or unfair is the more proper context. Washington isn’t the cheapest place to live either, not like a non-union, “right to work,” low services and low cost of living state like Louisiana, where people like Republican Rep. John Fleming can cry poverty having only $400,000 left over after he feeds his family.
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