The following is a True Story with my experience as an Amazon Delivery Driver. Enjoy.
“I heard you're killing it out there!”
That's what the hiring manager at a somewhat, local staffing agency told me, as he was alerted to my incoming frustration at the situation of a job. This was my second stint at an Amazon warehouse. Of course, at the time, my pockets were much thinner. I had less life direction. And needed a “job fast.”.
Couldn't even tell you his name. He was your archetypal young, successful, budding white-collar type. You know the type. Ambitious, business-savvy, with a Mercedes parked in front of the office. It had been 3 days of absolute hell, knee-deep in packages from my second delivering experience in the “Big White Van.” – You don't remember the creepy, big white, over-powered “rapist” vans that scoured the neighborhoods in the early Amazon delivery days?
Well, yes. They stepped their Game up “A-la-UPS” style with their new Blue designed vans covered with Amazon logo. But before that, the company was lucky to even have an emblem on their vehicles, which to me, was a bit off for a multi-billion-dollar company, cruising covert-style nonchalantly among the residential areas of America.
It was 3 days of absolute torture. Non-stop movement. Then I recollect a friend of mine, who, due to her living circumstances, of maintaining several kids, going through a divorce, and having to work upwards of 90 hours a week, accidently getting her head smashed in accidently by another co-worker, with a, as Amazon calls it “An Infinity bag” (No, these doesn't contain any Universal stones of power to stop time.) – But, yes. An Infinity bag as they call it, full of goods as she is knocked to the floor, head bleeding from the liasons. A co-worker of hers, lifted her up, and slung her around her shoulder, carrying her downstairs. Her prescription glasses cracked and muddled from the blood, dripping now down her face and onto the floor around her.
“Wait, did you just say you work 90 hours a week? How the hell is that even Possible?””Lots of Energy drinks.” She replies.
That didn't surprise me, as much as her “guilt” for having to tell the head of operations to shut down the machinery at the knowledge her prescription glasses fell in them. The type of self-sacrificing work-ethic maintained by most of these employees to keep the machine “running” at all costs. What shocked me more was, after getting her head knocked in, and losing her prescription glasses in the machinery, she got up off the floor and attempted to continue to work, in her half-dazed state, the kind of, auto-pilot agonizing monotony that is expected of most amazon employees.
I mean, wouldn't you? Amazon gave her the fancy title of “Ambassador / Problem solver” (Whatever that is) – so, of course, when dubbed with a fancy title of merti and recognition, one must rise up to the call of duty.
“I was ready to just keep working. But my Co-worker said, Whoa whoa whoa, you are bleeding on your face.” – And that's when she realized the blood had been pouring onto the concrete and floors. I was even more surprised to hear that, Amazon actually paid for her to see a doctor and gave her medical leave. Surprised. Yes.
But, a mother does what she can.
“Hey _____, I heard you were killing it out there!”
The surprising, but strategically placed compliment to disarm my incoming rage towards the hiring manager upon finding out, I Wouldn't receive a paycheck for an entire month. This was only 3 days in, of course. And my plight, was considerably nothing compared to the hardships most of these employee face on the daily. Maybe, in some sense I was entitled, or pissed off. But I couldn't fathom having gone through 3 days of absolute torture only to fnd out that I wouldn't be recieving a paycheck for an entire month.
There is something that angers me in the cocky, arrogant tone of a young business minded mogul attempting to disarm angry employees with pseudo flattery. But of course, such would be the tactic when you had been pre-alerted to the possible incoming disgruntlement of a worker-bee finding out they wouldn't be getting paid for an entire month. Flattery would disarm any would-be delivery driver in the face of the impossible, 250-300 packages-a-day deadline expected.
I calculated in my head. “Would I last?” I thought to myself. Another 28 days or so of this sweatshop style way of pushing packages out of a van. Knee-deep in packages with my personal delivery vehicle, some with souped up Dodge Hemi engines, others with the Ford ecoboost. “Would I be able to last?” – I was infuriated when my “co-worker” told me of such things. My “Trainer”, who had only been there for a month. The young, 20-something hispanic guy who had been gang affiliated and using this job as a way to turn his life around.
Later on in some afternoon, when my test run was over. I expressed my anger and the legality of withholding pay for an entire month. But did it matter? This was one of hundreds of fledgling “Temp-to-hire” agencies that dealt with a never-exhausted revolving door of human souls that came in and out of these Warehouse walls on the month to month,, week to week, and sometimes even day to basis.
My “hiring manager” stood behind his desk in the warehouse. There was about 3 other “Desks” – each assigned to the different fly-by-night Temp-agencies that Amazon so familiarly deals with. He was a young, middle eastern man. Probably in his mid to late 20's. He had a very organized, and well spoken appearance in his mannerisms. Clean, well spoken, extremely calm and deliberate in his dealings. Think, “Nacho Varga”, of the TV show better Call Saul.
It was this calm, and intelligent, precise demeanor that I could see his effectiveness in dealing with us human “pawns” in the cartel-esque environment of delivering package at all costs. Empty, desperate pockets, make me a fool to my emotions. My commute to the Chino warehouse was an hour and 30 minutes. My adrenaline and senses in shock at the abrasive driving tactics, and insanity of residential speeding and agression a-la- trainers in the souped up Vans, with my body sweat doused and thirsty for a buck.
I stood there, questioning the legality of not-receiving my pay. Disgruntled, sure. And usually, always in my nature to “buck” the system of most jobs I've had in America. I was in his face. Not unreasonable. But, as I said, with an empty wallet and a 14 year old econobox Honda that needed gas in its tank if I was to make the commute back to work. The young, precise, and Vigilant manager looked me very calmly in the eye. And, almost without moving his head, he slowly pulled out a $20.00 bill. He placed it on the tabletop, with his several computers that ran the logistics and employment operations.
With his index finger, he slowly slid the $20.00 bill across the table, looking me dead in the eye. Under his breath, he mutters. “Take it.”
My eyebrows are furrowed in absolute confusion. “Huh?” I think to myself.
“Take it.” he kept muttering under his breath. “Take it.”
I look at him in confusion, and disgust, as I slowly put my had on the $20 bill, and slide it off into my wallet, looking around. As if ome strange drug-deal had gone down amidst a Warehouse of amazon employees. “I'll talk to ______ and see about getting you a paycheck sooner.” he said. And with that, I was dismissed.
I slowly walked out of the warehouse, with the humming of machinery, noise of loaded cargo vans, out into the cool late November air. Walking into the parking lot of various employee commuters, and tricked out Nissans, to my econobox Honda wondering what the hell just went down. Was I just paid off to shut up? Handed a $20 like some Dog who needed a bone, to keep me satiated? If I was lucky, half of that $10 would cover my commute from Chino, back home, and the other $10.00 might buy me some Tacos and a Drink.
I turned right onto Euclid Avenue, and leaving “DLA7” I drove steadily in my faithful Civic with the heater on low. My thoughts and body in complete relief from the physical exertion of attempting to dishout 200 packages, unsuccessfully. I cracked my window to get a hint of cool air. I passed Prado Regional park, in the evening dark, somewhat thankful to be near a scene of serenity and nature to accompany on my commutes to-an-fro from hell. As I merged onto the 71 south Freeway, I couldn't help but wonder if I had just been bribed to keep my mouth shut. The “hiring manger” knew I was unhappy with being unable to receive any pay for a month.
These thoughts stirred in my head as I was driving home in the dark. The commute was long and my irritability only grew stronger with each passing mile knowing this $20 would have been eaten up by the time I got home. In my wake of frustration, I called the manager again and expressed to him, that I questioned the legality of them holding my pay, and that, maybe I should go to the Labor board instead, and that I wanted to talk to HIS manager. Maybe that was 'Karen' of me, but the Next morning, I got my opportunity.
“I heard you were Killing it!” the voice said, excitedly and with enthusiasm. I was completely disarmed. But then, my better judgement and age reminded me that compliments from absolute strangers without much merit was bullshit. I don't really remember what the conversation was about. I think I had expressed my dismay at finding out I wouldn't be paid for an entire month. On top of that, I didn't really know how long I would last.
A week followed. There isn't much to talk about at this point. I experienced some extremely dangerous driving at the hands of “trainers” (Other money-hungry, desperate people, who would do anything for a buck.) – Absolute ruthless savages for the dollar, driving insanely high speeds through residential areas in the surmised goal of “Getting packages out.” – By the weeks end, I realized I didn't have what it takes. One instance in particular, stood out, in that I was 5 hours in my shift of non-stop package delivery, and I peered into the cabin of my delivery van.
It still looked full. On top of that, I really had to take a piss, and, I was negotiating wether I should relieve myself, eat lunch, or risk not getting “packages out.” and the following beratement and dismay of the Temp-agency and Amazon staff that I was familiar with. That was my last day.
Thankfully, I moved onto Gig-work and my trusty Honda never failed me. Doordash and other such delivery services helped satiate the need of my empty pockets for the time being and I Was able to move on to other job ventures. Even after I had moved on, it still seemed like forever until I got my first paycheck from Amazon. I recall making the commute back to Chino and picking up my check. It was a nice, hefty some for a week of torture. $900.
“$900.” I thought to myself. Wow. That really wasn't bad for a weeks worth of work. “No wonder why people kill themselves for this job.” I thought.
Then the words of my co-worker / trainer echoed in my mind. He was a man in his late 40's, early 50s. He drove absolutely insane. I felt like I had been on a roller-coster ride at his mercy. “How HUNGRY ARE YOU??” He would ask. “I don't even EAT LUNCH for this JOB” – “You want the MONEY??”
I can't express to you the feeling of restitution within me, when I read the headline “Justice Department opens civil probe into Amazon's workplace safety practices” on CNN.,over the fact an amazon worker died in a “Fulfillment Center” in New Jersey. Or the fact that some workers in various states are attempting to Unionize. I just feel that it's been a long-time coming, and I can only hope that America can hold this company accountable for what it is.
Still. Those smug, snyde words of false complimentary undertones hit me so many years later. That was roughly 4 years ago, but the “Killing” in “Killing it out there.” is still heard in the depths of my psyche. Ironic and hypocritical if you as me, as with the latest death in the New Jersey Fulfillment center, Seems the only thing doing the Killing around here is Amazon themselves.