I opened my eyes.
Through my bleary half-sleep I could make out a familiar face looking at me. It was my own.
The windshield had been relatively clear when I fell asleep behind the service station. Now, the thick coating of ice and snow had sealed the car and my friend and I were trapped there by the light of the dashboard clock and our reflections. Beyond the window, the world was dressed in orange, lit by the glow of the sodium lamps arranged around the parking lot.
I didn't want to wake up. The clock said it was 3:15 a.m. - we had pulled off the interstate at about 2 a.m. The fatigue and sleet that both had started without much strength slowly had become stronger until it was hard to tell whether I was weaving across lanes because of road conditions or my own exhaustion.
I pulled off, knowing a battle between myself and the sky was one I wasn't going to win.
My friend was in the seat next to me. I was worried about carbon monoxide and had turned off the engine. We both fell asleep, but I slept more heavily than she. When she woke, she was shivering, while I didn't feel anything. I was lucky she woke me up. We needed to run the heater. We needed to move. Each exhale brought forth a cloud that hit the windows and fogged them for a moment.
Neither of us had coats.
I would not have woke up on my own. I didn't want to move - I was convinced I was warm enough. I was too tired.
We had been working that entire day, waking at 6:30 a.m. to drive to Kansas City, Mo., to earn some money with a catering company. We packed trucks, unpacked trucks, stacked chairs, unstacked chairs, moved tables, arranged food - we had started working at 9 a.m. and were not done with the setup until 5 p.m. Then we put on dress clothes to serve the 2,000 some-odd people who were attending the party.
The dogs were barking - man, did my feet ache. I didn't wear a watch that day because I knew that things would go slower if I kept looking to see what time it was. Finishing your assigned tasks begins to take on monumental proportions. Eventually, each finished project carries its own feeling of accomplishment.
That's what labor is. It's something many of you already know.
We broke the party down at 11 p.m., packing the trucks and riding back to the kitchen to unpack them once again. There were dishes to wash - dishes for 2,000. We would scrub, rinse and dip the dishes in sanitizer water, which we also doused ourselves in as we moved the wet pans, pitchers, bowls and lids to the drying rack. We would wash again and again and again, handcuffed to a sink filled with solutions that caused my skin to peel off in sheets.
That's what labor is.
We were released at 1 a.m. Someone with keys opened the refrigerator containing all of the leftover beer, cans were passed around and people drank. Nothing on this planet tastes as good as that beer - nothing - but I don't drink anymore, and my friend wasn't drinking that night. We were trying to get back to Manhattan, as if that was the final task - the last thing we needed to feel a sense of accomplishment. Then we could rest.
It was raining when we left. We heard there was snow further on Interstate 70, but it was too remote at that moment to think about. I made a joke about how "snow" probably meant a dusting on the grass, a few flakes melting instantly on contact with the cement.
When I woke we tried to start the car. I turned the key, fumbling for a few moments and thinking that in my half-sleep I was not turning the key far enough.
I tried again. The car wouldn't start.
The orange glow outside flickered for a moment. Then there was a blue-green flash and the entire world outside went black. The two of us sat in silence, staring at the green dashboard clock, petrified by the threat of the unknown beyond the iced-over windows. As far as either of us knew, the entire planet might have been wiped out by the storm.
We waited. I turned off the car entirely and removed the keys, hoping that the flash wasn't something indicative of lightning.
We waited.
Then everything came on again. Relieved, my friend and I realized a transformer must have blown in the cold and the wind and that it took a minute for the backup to come on.
We decided to get out of the car and run for better shelter. Our already wet shoes were no match for the snow.
Labor is working for an organization like Labor Ready or Labor Pro. An organization that contracts out an unskilled pair of hands to client companies that could use them. Labor Ready and Labor Pro provide a service to the unemployed, a service to the homeless, giving them a chance to earn an honest wage, to generate career contacts, build skills and build income. They pay workers at the end of every day, making it possible for them to build up enough income to pay for rent.
Organizations like Labor Ready and Labor Pro charge contract companies an hourly wage for their workers. The amount changes depending on the type of job and the skills needed to complete it. One person I spoke to said they thought the caterers paid the organization around $9 per hour for the help, and in their estimation the workers were paid around minimum wage. Catering can be physically demanding, but it requires few skills. Naturally, not everyone working for the labor contractors is entirely satisfactory, but they do provide much-needed assistance.
Our workers were given green shirts to wear with numbers on them. No one has the time to learn their names, so they are given numbers. The number becomes their identity.
"113 was was working pretty hard," someone said back at the kitchen. 113 was an older black man, fairly large, outgoing and upbeat. He had a lazy eye and a tendency to poke his head around the corner from time to time to see how things were going and to make a witty remark. The workers are given some of the least desirable jobs - 113 was in charge of emptying our trash. He was paid half as much as we were.
I didn't realize how cold it was until I got inside. The Hardee's we ran to was empty save for a person mopping the floor and another behind the counter. We picked a booth, and I went to get coffee. The man behind the counter handed me the cup, saying that it was too cold outside to pay and that I should keep my money. I thanked him and returned to the booth.
We passed the time by talking, my friend and I. We talked about how tough it would be to depend on a manual labor job for livelihood. We decided that college was a ticket out, a rite of passage to the privilege of not being forced to endure 16-hour days. We do not appreciate college enough.
I think it is interesting when friends tell me that the purpose of college is to have fun. Lately, I have been agreeing less and less with that sentiment. The way I see it, if I wanted to have fun, I could find a beach on which to spend my $40,000. I wouldn't spend it in Manhattan, Kan.
No, college is a chance. College is an investment - an investment that requires decisions. Sometimes you make the wrong decision and wind up stranded while you wait out the storm.
After calling AAA, we made it to a Motel 6 on the west side of Topeka.
We did not make it without sliding into an embankment. Luckily, we weren't going too fast. Luckily, we slid away from the concrete barrier dividing the interstate. Luckily, a passing state trooper was able to help us push the car back onto the road. We made it to the hotel by 6 a.m.
The room cost us as much money as 113 made after 10 hours of work.
So be thankful for school.
And always bring a warm coat.