Spring 2021
Issue 01
W27
My Summer In The Plant by Brenden John (Film, ‘21)
The summer of 2020 is always going to be one defined by COVID-19. In place of millions of Americans traveling around the country, having get-togethers and just seeing each other, many of us were stuck at home. I spent most of my summer roaming around a factory floor.
She told me proudly once that she’ll often work 60hour weeks but that since supervisors knew she was dependable, they often gave her a few days off. This was even more of an achievement considering at least three other shift leads quit while I was there, with one even walking off mid-shift. Diana complained occasionally about pain in her hands and feet, but it didn’t stop her from doing work or leaving the floor often. We talked about all sorts of things from the WWE, life and the job. She had the habit of often “accidentally” having extra food around me, like “accidentally” having an extra sandwich or order of McDonald’s fries. I always accepted the “accidental” food. I was grateful. I really valued our friendship in our strange pairing of two very different people.
For me, the summer was the first time I worked in an industrial setting which was an opportunity given to me by the pandemic. I was assigned to collect virus screenings, input the results into a spreadsheet and hunt down fellow workers who had an irregularity in the answers they gave. For the rest of my 12-hour shifts, I would wander the grounds of the food processing plant and enforce safety guidelines set for the virus. My official title was “COVID cop” (still ACAB though). With this, I got into a routine of monotony.
Diana seemed grateful for the job despite her grievances. She was hired after being in prison and was glad that she had the opportunity to work. She liked being paid for the job but wanted to leave. She would drive over an hour from Rochester to Syracuse to visit her girlfriend multiple times a week. This distance was inconvenient but as Diana was on parole, this was the best option for her.
At this point, I shouldn’t be surprised by the resilience of others or myself. I did however shock my parents from going from the sedentary lifestyle of taking classes in my bedroom to waking up at 4:45 a.m. to drive to the other side of the city to make my 6 a.m. shift. This habit became much easier with multiple cups of black coffee and a can of yerba mate as a treat. For me, this lifestyle shift was a dramatic one but not nearly as difficult for many of my coworkers.
My coworkers were full of sad stories. Diana’s nephew, who she called Welchie (like the fruit juice), had to work to pay off a fine. After a night of drinking, he went out to his car to rest and sober up. A police officer found him like this and charged him with a DWI. He picked up the job to help pay the fine. Another shift leader would joke about how she was shot a few months prior to our meeting. It was good she could joke about it but, it’s terribly sad it happened in the first place. Luckily, she ended up being ok. Another coworker was very clearly being catfished by someone. It was mentioned as a joke after he showed me pictures of two very obviously different women that he claimed were just one. He would send money to her despite never meeting. Sure, there was some humor in the situation, but he was also someone who just wanted a connection with somebody, and he happened to find that with someone claiming to be someone else on WhatsApp. I can’t blame him. Being alone in the pandemic is hard enough as it is.
Shifts at the plant were for 12 hours for most floor workers, either morning to evening or evening to morning. I did not envy any of my coworkers that stayed overnight. I remember being particularly heartbroken after a coworker coming off of his night shift told our supervisor that he would then be driving to Kentucky Fried Chicken to clock in for his day job. The plant paid $12 an hour to most of the floor workers I interacted with. The grueling hours and conditions made for a tough atmosphere. Hearing that someone had to go work again after a full night just to pay for whatever they needed was a tough reality. Stories like this were all over the plant. It wasn’t a place people wanted to be. Over the summer I got close with a woman who we’ll call Diana to keep her privacy. She was a shift leader, Hispanic, perhaps in her late forties or fifties, with a buzz cut and also diabetic. She prided herself on her work ethic but seemed ambivalent about the job. 31
