Pride Tripping
The issue with the orchard is over now, and I intend to leave it behind me, but I want to spiel a little bit more. On Tuesday, on the advice that I had received directly from the Department of Labour, I left a letter on the owners' desk setting out my requests for time and a half for the four hours I worked on Easter Monday, as well as a fixed-term contractual agreement, both of which I am entitled to under law. They did not speak to me for most of the day, but later in the piece I ran into one of them, who went literally hysterical at me over the fact that I had not stacked the empty crates tidily. It's never been procedure to do this, as the crates have to be quickly deposited around the orchard so that they can be accepted by the pickers and filled with feijoas in as short a time as possible. It was apparent that the only reason anyone should be angry at me was because I was holding them to the law. Relations between me and my employers had officially dissolved.
Come Wednesday morning, I really did not want to go to work after I had been yelled at by the owner, but if I was to have a leg to stand on with the Department of Labour -- should events reach the point that I required their intervention -- I had to fulfill my obligations as an employee (although speaking very technically, I had no official obligations as I had no contract). I was somewhat expecting the employers to respond to my request and, given the way that I had been spoken to the day before, that I was going to be sent packing. As if it were an omen, the weather took a rapid turn for the worse, and of course pickers are required to work no matter what the conditions. The worst thing about bad weather is that even when it stops raining, the slightest breeze will bring a hail of dirty water drops down off of the trees.
I ate lunch with the Tuvaluans for once, instead of going home -- bearing the alienation of having everyone in my company speaking a language that I do not understand, in the hope that the sight of me would lure the owners out of the packhouse to finally deal with me. It was all being drawn out too long, and was very stressful. During lunch, I saw an executive-looking woman arrive and enter the packhouse. I pondered that maybe she was from the Department of Labour. But when I got back to work after the break, she came into the orchard with a plastic bag (in an attempt to make it look like she was another picker, I perceive) and said "Hello Gary." She knew my name? She must be someone from the Department of Labour, I thought.
When she came closer, I realised she looked exactly like the male owner, and then she introduced herself to me as the owners' daughter. I was very taken aback. I wouldn't have been surprised if my mouth was hanging open the whole time this woman was guilt tripping me with the details that her parents are "facing severe economic hardship because of this harvest," are having to pay the workers' wages out of their own income (sorry, isn't that part of running a business?), that they're old people who are not very well and she believes said hardship will prove to have taken its toll on their health, and that they "don't need people making trouble for them" (a clear reference to me politely asking for what I am legally entitled to). She said all this very sternly and I could not believe that she had tried it on with me. I didn't say anything to her except to acknowledge that she was speaking to me. Yes, I did feel guilty -- exponentially so in fact. But the excuses did not stand up. As she trounced off she added "...and they need people to work hard..." as if to imply that I don't work hard. I friggin' bust my back for them.
I was psyching myself up for the prospect of handing in my notice and calling in the Department of Labour when, less than three hours after the owners' daughter had spoken to me, I was told by the supervisor Paul -- who I am on good terms with -- that the harvest is to end on Monday. Moreover, he said of my confrontation with the owners: "I think you win." I had won, indeed in more ways than one. I was concerned that even if the owners had acted upon my requests, it was going to be hard to continue working at the orchard because of the strained relationship between us. They certainly weren't putting across the impression that they'd ever want to talk to me again. So it was very welcome when they left the orchard yesterday, homeward bound and without saying goodbye, and having left a pleasingly-sized pay cheque in the hands of Paul for me. I got my time and a half, and what's more, I got my six per cent holiday pay -- something I was expecting I was going to have to fight for. Yesterday, I happily drove out of the orchard for the last time.
Although I'll miss Paul, as well as Sia -- a Tuvaluan woman who could speak basic English and who I became pretty good friends with (only at the end did I realise how close I was to her) -- and having to drive only four minutes to work, there's not much else that the orchard had going for it. I really did get good vibes when I first went there for my job interview, I suspect because the weather was great and the owners were very kind. Interestingly, in retrospect, one of the first things they asked me was if I had been at the Big Pay Out. I'll leave it to you to read into that one.
Rodney's going to be on Dancing With The Stars this weekend! It's certainly an unexpected eventuation, given his bumbling demeanor and tendency to belittle politicians that waste time and pull publicity stunts, let alone the fact that he's the leader of a political party himself (albeit one that is decidedly unprominent in Parliament). It is bound to be entertaining, and everyone must watch, regardless of whether you can handle watching all the dancing or not! Rodney's already taking the piss out of himself, choosing to emphasise his inadequacy, and sporadic comments in regards to the upcoming "show" are taking pride of place on his blog. The fact that it seems to be just a bit of fun for him as opposed to a really serious contest suggests that we can expect something similar from Rodney to what Tim Shadbolt offered up in the last series, only even more amusing.
As a side note, this is the one hundredth entry I've written for this blog. Who would've thought at the start that I would put this much into it?
Come Wednesday morning, I really did not want to go to work after I had been yelled at by the owner, but if I was to have a leg to stand on with the Department of Labour -- should events reach the point that I required their intervention -- I had to fulfill my obligations as an employee (although speaking very technically, I had no official obligations as I had no contract). I was somewhat expecting the employers to respond to my request and, given the way that I had been spoken to the day before, that I was going to be sent packing. As if it were an omen, the weather took a rapid turn for the worse, and of course pickers are required to work no matter what the conditions. The worst thing about bad weather is that even when it stops raining, the slightest breeze will bring a hail of dirty water drops down off of the trees.
I ate lunch with the Tuvaluans for once, instead of going home -- bearing the alienation of having everyone in my company speaking a language that I do not understand, in the hope that the sight of me would lure the owners out of the packhouse to finally deal with me. It was all being drawn out too long, and was very stressful. During lunch, I saw an executive-looking woman arrive and enter the packhouse. I pondered that maybe she was from the Department of Labour. But when I got back to work after the break, she came into the orchard with a plastic bag (in an attempt to make it look like she was another picker, I perceive) and said "Hello Gary." She knew my name? She must be someone from the Department of Labour, I thought.
When she came closer, I realised she looked exactly like the male owner, and then she introduced herself to me as the owners' daughter. I was very taken aback. I wouldn't have been surprised if my mouth was hanging open the whole time this woman was guilt tripping me with the details that her parents are "facing severe economic hardship because of this harvest," are having to pay the workers' wages out of their own income (sorry, isn't that part of running a business?), that they're old people who are not very well and she believes said hardship will prove to have taken its toll on their health, and that they "don't need people making trouble for them" (a clear reference to me politely asking for what I am legally entitled to). She said all this very sternly and I could not believe that she had tried it on with me. I didn't say anything to her except to acknowledge that she was speaking to me. Yes, I did feel guilty -- exponentially so in fact. But the excuses did not stand up. As she trounced off she added "...and they need people to work hard..." as if to imply that I don't work hard. I friggin' bust my back for them.
I was psyching myself up for the prospect of handing in my notice and calling in the Department of Labour when, less than three hours after the owners' daughter had spoken to me, I was told by the supervisor Paul -- who I am on good terms with -- that the harvest is to end on Monday. Moreover, he said of my confrontation with the owners: "I think you win." I had won, indeed in more ways than one. I was concerned that even if the owners had acted upon my requests, it was going to be hard to continue working at the orchard because of the strained relationship between us. They certainly weren't putting across the impression that they'd ever want to talk to me again. So it was very welcome when they left the orchard yesterday, homeward bound and without saying goodbye, and having left a pleasingly-sized pay cheque in the hands of Paul for me. I got my time and a half, and what's more, I got my six per cent holiday pay -- something I was expecting I was going to have to fight for. Yesterday, I happily drove out of the orchard for the last time.
Although I'll miss Paul, as well as Sia -- a Tuvaluan woman who could speak basic English and who I became pretty good friends with (only at the end did I realise how close I was to her) -- and having to drive only four minutes to work, there's not much else that the orchard had going for it. I really did get good vibes when I first went there for my job interview, I suspect because the weather was great and the owners were very kind. Interestingly, in retrospect, one of the first things they asked me was if I had been at the Big Pay Out. I'll leave it to you to read into that one.
Rodney's going to be on Dancing With The Stars this weekend! It's certainly an unexpected eventuation, given his bumbling demeanor and tendency to belittle politicians that waste time and pull publicity stunts, let alone the fact that he's the leader of a political party himself (albeit one that is decidedly unprominent in Parliament). It is bound to be entertaining, and everyone must watch, regardless of whether you can handle watching all the dancing or not! Rodney's already taking the piss out of himself, choosing to emphasise his inadequacy, and sporadic comments in regards to the upcoming "show" are taking pride of place on his blog. The fact that it seems to be just a bit of fun for him as opposed to a really serious contest suggests that we can expect something similar from Rodney to what Tim Shadbolt offered up in the last series, only even more amusing.
As a side note, this is the one hundredth entry I've written for this blog. Who would've thought at the start that I would put this much into it?
posted by Gary at 8:40 pm
1 Comments:
You mean you've had the outstandingly esteemed privilege of actually seeing him in person? On multiple occasions? In his car? He's one of the most real people in Parliament right now. What a great guy.
I actually felt genuinely sorry for him when someone broke into the Smart Car and stole the GPS. He had been so stoked with it prior to the thiefment. I guess this is the sort of thing one has to expect when you're a politician and the car clearly advertises that, though.
Thanks for the congrats. I am indeed quite pleased with myself. More importantly, I don't need to see those people again. I would detest for the victory to develop a certain expectation, such as, "We did all this for you, so we expect you to keep working for us, and working hard."
It was a surprisingly easy victory in retrospect, although obviously I do feel worn out by the argument and feel a twinge -- very slight -- of guilt. I surmise the guilt is simply caused by the fact that originally they had seemed like such nice people, and that I never thought I was going to have to confront them. At points, even though I knew I was legally in the right, it felt to me like I was ethically in the wrong -- this was not helped by their daughter's rant at me. But it's over, so yay for that, I own.
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