I Started a Union When I was Four
Recalling my first job
If you asked her, she’d probably tell you some crap about being influenced by the great organizers of the past and wanting to further their legacy. She’d probably relate it back to our family’s humble beginnings and not wanting to see people get taken advantage of. She’d say that she became a labor organizer because she wanted to be the woman at the front of the march, calling out oppressors for oppressing. And she would be full of shit if she told you any of that. The truth is that my cousin, Gabby, became an organizer because of me and I have proof.
“Grandma, you have a deal!”
Imagine those words coming out of a precocious little four-year-old’s mouth and imagine his near-to-free labor wanting grandmother shaking his minuscule hand and smiling like she won the lottery. That little boy was me and those asinine words came spewing out of my mouth when my grandmother offered the job of cleaning her room for one dollar. I want to be as respectful, so when I tell you that my grandmother was a slob, may she rest in filth, trust that I am being as nice as possible. However, her bedroom looked like there was a garage sale at a convenience store. The windowsills were littered with kitschy porcelain figurines of white people that belonged on prairies, while the floor was an indiscriminately daunting maze of…
