Guest Post: A Gig Site's Lifespan: A Tragedy, In Four Acts

 

<http://www.impawards.com/2021/gig_is_up.html> 

(One of the best documentaries
on the phenomenon -- a must-view!

See Link Below)

Reckoner's Note: It's been some time since we've chronicled the Piecework Industrial Complex, AKA "the gig economy," and its doings. No longer the new kid on the block, many changes have overtaken the Gig Economy, though not for the better (surprise, surprise). 

The "content farm" approach of yore has given way to more practical impulses. Who wants to read somebody's thinly plagiarized content, when the average bear just wants to know, "Who could help me craft my presentation for that big meeting next week?" Or, "Who can I get to clean my floor tonight?" Or, "Where can I hire a tutor to bump up my kid's test scores?"

The emphasis is increasingly on a service-oriented economy -- from delivery (DoorDash, GrubHub, Postmates, Shipt), to transport (Lyft, Uber), and intellectual labor for hire (Upwork), to name some of the "usual suspects." However, many of the same dubious practices that garnered so much bad press during the 2010s -- inconsistent pay/work, lack of autonomy, and ever-shifting work rules -- have remained in place.

We wondered how anyone could still piece together a living this way, so we put out some feelers, and got a response. For simplicity's sake, and to avoid retaliation from his paymasters, we're calling him The Midnight Marauder, who's a decade-plus gig work veteran. "One thing, though, hasn't changed in this line of work," he tells us. "And that is -- the lifespan of a gig site, which follows the same general story arc." His story follows below, as he's written it.

<"So Many Balls In The Air..."/The Reckoner>

<i.> Act One: The Initial Buzz

Like anybody else out there, you worry how to juggle all the balls whizzing in the air. Groceries or meds? Rent or utilities? The pressure never lets up, needless to say. It's the reason why you aren't sleeping so comfortably these days. 

Then, from out of the blue, a solution drops: MakeWork.com, a third party editing site. Maybe you found it during some late night online search, or somebody recommended it as an option -- "I know a guy, who knows a guy, who knows a guy," as Saul Goodman says -- or you might even know somebody who works for one of these sites. Whatever.

The site seems straightforward enough. People contact you for copyediting and proofing jobs. Most of the deadlines are four to six hours. Pressed for time? Then try the quick 'n' dirty jobs that people upload, which are due in 60 minutes or less. The more involved the job, the more you make, for which you're paid every Monday. No fuss, no muss, no need to pound the pavement, as the copy suggests: "FLEXIBLE SCHEDULING! MAKE MONEY THE OLD-FASHIONED WAY: QUICKLY! WORK HOW YOU WANT, WHEN YOU WANT!"

So you figure, "What the hell," and take a simple copyediting test -- nobody wants "Brian" mangled into "Brain," right? -- fill out some basic info (don't forget the PayPal address), and the usual folderol (desired salary, work hours, job preferences). You hold your breath, and hit Send.

Back comes the answer, a day or so later: you're in! No resume, no job interview, no endless bargaining over rates. You're pinching yourself at how easy it seems. MakeWork.com delivers it all to your doorstep, for whatever princely flat rate the job pays. Seems like easy enough work, you tell yourself. What's not to like? Actually, plenty, as you'll soon find out. But for now, the promise of 200 to 300 extra bucks a week is enough to keep you going.

<"The Humming...Of The Digital Sweatshop"/The Reckoner>

<ii.> Act II: The Upward Rocket

You settle quickly into the routine. Come home, decompress over dinner, then hit the computer. You feel a sense of pride when that first 100 bucks slides through your inbox. You start thinking, what would happen if I spent three or so hours a night on this stuff? Within a month or so, you bump that 100 to 200, then 300 bucks. Now and then, you even scrape the heights near $400.

It's not a free-for-all, though. As a newly-minted MakeWorker, you're responsible for keeping track of its ever-changing style guide, and management's continual stream of edicts, via weekly emails and blog postings that hit your inbox. What's more, if the customer doesn't like your work, they can ask a CE (Copyeditor) to review it.

You get one shot at fixing up that file, and if the CE doesn't agree, your work's rejected.  Poof! That $25, $35, or $50 is no longer yours, and the job gets assigned to someone else. The first time it happens, you're livid, and think about walking away -- until you remember that overdue medical bill. The second and third times, you grit your teeth, and engage in a spirited back-and-forth with your CE. Nothing comes of it. 

Though you can -- and do -- appeal the CE's decision, the lack of results convinces you not to bother again, unless the issue is mega-major. Actually, it already is now, because it's eating up time spent on working. After some thought, though, you shrug it off as the cost of doing business. Invoking the nuclear option of closing your account seems less appealing, since your bills never stop coming.

On top of all this, MakeWork imposes a Maker Minimum requirement. Now, you must do X number of jobs per month, which is calculated into a rolling average. Slip below that number, and you risk having your account closed. You wince at the thought, but for now, it doesn't seem like a big deal.

For one thing, you're scoring some other side gigs, to which you can always transition -- theoretically, anyhow -- if MakeWork doesn't pan out. The image of flying solo as a fulltime freelancer is pretty damn alluring, so you don't want to interrupt the fantasy. And besides, they aren't offering any overtime at the office.

<"Be Reasonable...Demand The Impossible/
Take I": The Reckoner>

<iii.> Act III: The Sugar High

For awhile, you don't spot any trouble looming in Paradise. With over 1,000 jobs on the board at any given time, it honestly feels like a gold rush out there. But soon, another fly pops into the proverbial ointment: MakeWork HQ imposes a new requirement, that allows two more revisions, before your work's rejected for good.

The good news? You get a shot at redemption, and keeping that 25-50 bucks. The bad news? All that extra work jeopardizes your weekly goal of 200 to 300 bucks, and further divides your energy. On one hand, you're still making the same money, but in a real sense, you're not -- because it's taking longer to get there.

A mini-mutiny erupts when MakeWork introduces a lower-paying job tier of QuickWork Tasks that pay $10-15 apiece. Management bills them as "get 'em out the door" projects that can rack up quick money, if you can do plenty of them. However, they're still subject to the same mindless revision requirements as MakeWork jobs, which could eat away at your overall returns.

The announcement curdles your stomach, and for the first time, you begin to question the whole business. However, a quick scan of similar-sounding websites -- BusyBee, CopyEditBistro, Media Cool, Razzer, and so on -- jolts your brain into another unpleasant reality.

Gig work sites act like unions in reverse. Whereas unions generally raise the bar for everyone's wages, gig sites operate as the perverse flipside, by dragging everyone's pay straight to the bottom. Seeing MakeWork's competitors ape their basic business model for barrel scraping wages is proof enough for you.

What's more, the number of jobs is starting to shrink, as MakeWork continues to onboard armies of newbies. To keep up with this potential new threat, you're now forced to park at your computer for several hours a night, gritting your teeth, and telling yourself: Who sleeps beside their cursors? Guess these people do. But you aren't about to quit, since your grocery bills never let up. And neither should you, right?

<"Be Reasonable...Demand The Impossible/

Take II": The Reckoner>

<iv.>  The Downward Spiral

Five or so years down the line, you're well and truly embedded on the site, and its routines. To what effect, though, you're not sure. More and more, you find yourself questioning the setup, as the number of QuickWork jobs continues to grow, while the number of MakeWork jobs continues to taper off. 

As if that worry isn't enough to rattle your cage, MakeWork rolls out another concerning change. Customers can now vote Thumbs Up or Down on your work, whatever the case may be. Too many Thumbs Down ratings in too short a time, and you risk getting busted down to the QuickWork tier. 

Judging by the forum chatter, your stay in MakeWork Purgatory won't be a short one, since it takes 10 Thumbs Up ratings to overcome the one or two Thumbs Down grades that weigh down your standing like a boat anchor. So far, you're dodging that fate, but you don't whip out the confetti, as the amount of QuickWork jobs grows to double, then, triple the MakeWork ones. 

The overall proportion of jobs is also starting to drop. Those $300 weekly totals now seem like a lifetime ago, as it practically takes all seven days to make 200 bucks. What took two or three hours a night now gobbles twice as much time forcing you to hover constantly near your computer. So much for, "WORK WHEN YOU WANT, HOWEVER LONG YOU WANT," right?

On weekends, there's hardly any work, leaving you back to surfing the couch, and binging on Tubi. Not having seen much of you lately, your partner welcomes this new development, even as your wallet whispers insistently in your ear: "You're running out of options, again!" But what else can you do? You signed a non-disclosure agreement, as MakeWork policy dictates, so complaining beyond the forums is out of the question.

And you can't contact customers directly to line up other work, which also runs afoul of MakeWork policy. You're atomized and isolated behind their shiny virtual walled garden, where they wanted you all along. Somehow, that gauzy photo currently gracing the home page -- you know, the woman happily jogging behind her dog -- doesn't make you feel better. Every time you see it, you're ready to upchuck.

Running alongside Rover is the last thing on your mind, with fingers poised on your mouse, hoping to beat someone else to the MakeWork jobs that still roll in. But it's getting harder to do that dance, which eats up more time than ever. Ah, well, what the hell, who needs more downtime, anyway? Couch surfing costs money, especially when you're not making any, right?

<"If I Had A Dollar... (X2)"/The Reckoner>

<Coda> The Morning After

Finally, you realize the party's over. No single magic moment tells you; you're just tired of staring at a blank screen till your eyes pop out. You and your partner return to reselling, to middling success. There's also the new hip record store, where you can sell books, CDs, and other memorabilia from your own collection for 100-150 bucks a pop, which certainly beats MakeWork's rates.

And you still have your job, not to mention all those goodies that MakeWork figured you wouldn't miss -- like health insurance, paid time off days, sick leave, and vacation. MakeWork continues to sputter along, a mere shell of its shinier self. The same site that promised the moon and stars is now lucky to offer 10-20 jobs at a time.

Perversely, you feel way better, since you realize that you're not missing anything. Amazingly, though, a fair number of Makers haven't gotten the memo -- as the forums buzz with various conspiracy theories, rumors, and speculation, to explain where all the jobs -- and the clients -- have gone.

If nothing else, you've learned a good lesson about the life and death of a gig site. From initial buzz, to gold rush era, slippery slope downward, and point of no return, the story arc is always the same. Still, somewhere in America, some vulture capitalist or other is pitching the next MakeWork.com, that some investor is bound to green light.

Why? Because these types of sites operate on dreams, long before they start running strictly on fumes. That dream operates like a siren's song to all those desperate people out there, stuck in the same dead end loop that you're facing -- which bill will you pay this week, and which one can wait till next week?

As long as enough people believe, the site will sputter along, even after those who dreamed it up have cashed out long ago, surfing a wave of bonuses and stock options. How do those who follow them get paid? That's the next sucker's problem, or -- excuse me -- opportunity, or dream.

At least you've gotten away clean (relatively speaking). However, your next door neighbor or friend may not wind up so lucky. But if you happen to encounter them, it might not hurt to run this little bit of Elvis Costello folk wisdom by them: "Oh, no, I've seen the movie/Even though it does not move me." 

Chances are, they'll feel like at the midway, who didn't pick the shell under the right pea. Still, the hardbitten carny holds all the cards, so where else can you go? It's not a good feeling. Now I know, all too well, the reasoning behind the saying, "Experience is the hardest teacher", as some lessons are harder to learn, it seems, than others.--The Midnight Marauder

Links To Go (Hurry, Hurry, Hurry,
Before Your Piecework Dries Up...)
Los Angeles Times: The Gig Economy
Sucked In Gen Z & Millennials Like Me:
https://www.latimes.com/opinion/story/2024-01-14/economy-millennials-gen-z-freelance-gigs

Rice University Media Relations:
Hidden Costs Of Gig Work:
https://news.rice.edu/news/2025/hidden-costs-gig-work-job-insecurity-and-customer-ratings-impact-worker-well-being

The Gig Is Up (Full Movie):
https://tubitv.com/movies/654449/the-gig-is-up

TIME: "It's A Race To The Bottom...":
https://time.com/5836868/gig-economy-coronavirus/

 
"When gig work is the only pie 

that’s available

 to millions of people, 

sharing it means 

that some don’t even get crumbs."

Tyler Perry Has It Right: Ownership Is Everything

 

<The Reckoner>

<i.>

Let's face it. If we've learned anything from our run-ins with the digital marketplace, it's taught us the price of everything, and the value of nothing. It's one of the biggest, darkest flaws running through the gig economy, which is as corporatized and commodified as...well, the Web in general, these days. 

Here's how the basic business model works, if you're not familiar with it. (I'm making this proposition for argument's sake. With so many people resorting to sites like Mechanical Turk for survival, you'd have to visit another planet to find someone who isn't familiar with gig work, in some way. Then again, there are people who've never used Facebook, signed up for cable TV, or used a cellphone, right?) You sign up, which may or may not involve some sort of audition, demo, or test. 

You may also undergo an interview, though that's only happened to me a couple of times, usually for a writing-related opportunity. (I usually turn them down if they want me to essentially do something complicated from scratch, for free, especially if it might take a few hours of my time.) 

Depending on how your initial screening goes, you'll get in right away, or go on a waiting list, if the site's popular enough. Then you can get right to work, for rock bottom rates that run all over the map. In my experience, $5-40 per item is the range, with the median landing at $10-20.

The pros? As much work as you want. No need to invoice anybody, nor wait for someone to send you a check (as the middleman, the site takes care of it). No need to worry about somebody spacing out on those finer details. Generally speaking, the work won't strain your brain, so once you get into a certain rhythm, it's theoretically possible to raise whatever per hour rate you've set as your benchmark.

The cons? Plenty, baby, plenty. You'll work like a pack mule for next to no money, and those rock bottom rates rarely unless the entity involved needs to clear a lot of excess work off its platform. Actually, your rates usually go south, because if see you doing too well, they'll cut your pay. If it's a writing-based site, you may get multiple, rewrite requests that eat up more of your time that you could spend seeking out better paying work, or credits that might advance your career.

The mechanical, repetitive nature of the work will also grind you down. There's no room for creativity, so your talent won't shine on a 500-word clickbait atrocity like "How To Put Pants On A Dog." Like porn, it's all about the act itself., no more, no less. If you churn out this type of word gruel long enough, you'll eventually start questioning your sanity and well-being. 

You won't feel any emotional involvement in something like, "The Pros And Cons Of Paint Strainers," even if it doesn't get unceremoniously scrubbed, years later, off whatever platform pitched pennies at you to bang it out. You won't ever find yourself saying, Hey, I did that, because it was never yours. 

Conditions change without warning, which leaves you scrambling when the work (or your rock bottom pay) drops off. Sites disappear without abruptly, too, once the promise of that quick clickbait revenue evaporates. All that piecework you did for pennies? It's gone forever, but you signed an NDA (Non-Disclosure Agreement), remember? 

That means you can't retrieve or circulate all that digital sweatshop labor, so forget about raising your profile. You can't contact anybody through the site, because they might do the unthinkable, like pay something close to what your time and talents deserve.

Your name typically doesn't appear on your work, further eroding its value as a calling card. The only difference between a piecework site and an express kidnapping gang is that you've spared the bad guys the work of dragging you to the bank to drain your ATM, because you've essentially signed a piece of paper allowing them to do it as often as they want.

<ii.>

This constant insistence on NDAs, and on hiving off disputes to arbitration (another widely abused corporate practice), represents one of the most absurd aspects of how the Piecework Industrial Complex does business. The future value of a mini-masterpiece like "How To Change A Lightbulb In A Hamburg Hotel Room," is negligible, at best. We can all agree on that, I think. 

But if that's the case, why does greedygigwork.com insist that you sign it over to them, forever and forever, in perpetuity, blah-blah-blah, by any and all means, blah-blah-blah, including those yet to be created, discovered or patented (as the relevant boilerplate demands)? What's the point, if nobody's going to read it, even 15 minutes from now?

I think it's time for a new paradigm. Tyler Perry made the case succinctly when he joined "wealthy celebrities like Jay-Z, Oprah Winfrey and Steven Spielberg in the Hollywood billionaires' club," as PureWow reported in September 2020. He earned a place on the Forbes 400 wealthiest Americans list, no small feat for an African-American who started off as an obscure playwright.

All that changed for Perry with his first film, Diary Of A Mad Black Woman (2005), which grossed $50 million worldwide, and enabled him to take creative control of his projects. His back catalog includes 22 films, two dozen plays, and 1,200 TV show episodes, as PureWow reported. He also owns a 330-acre studio lot in Atlanta, that serves as the hub of his creative empire.

Perry explained his philosophy thusly. "My father was a subcontractor, and he would get paid on Fridays and be so happy that he had made $800, but I would watch the man that owned the house sell it and make $80,000," Perry said, in part. "So I always wanted to be the guy that owned the house. I own the lights. I own the sets. So that's where the difference is. Because I own everything, my returns are higher. Ownership is everything."

<iii.>

Makes sense, right? Let that phrase sink in once more: "Ownership is everything." It allows you to control your destiny, to coin a phrase from pro football, where the same rules apply. Do you want to be the team that get home field advantage by winning all its playoff games? Or would you rather hang on the division-tipping outcome of the wild card game, and watch the two 8-8 teams duke it out? The answer is obvious.

Or maybe not so obvious, judging by how many people still flock to these sites, like Etsy, who reported $451.5 million in total revenue for the third quarter of 2020, right about the time Tyler Perry achieved his billionaire status. Think how far even 10 percent of that money could go, if we put it into our DIY communities, and supported each other's efforts, and developed our own networks, instead of allowing some giant corporate entity to hoover it out of our pockets, forever and ever.

Steve Chou, of mywifequiteherjob.com lays out the case against Etsy, and other sites like it, well in his post (see link below). Granted, he's not a disinterested party, but still, he makes some strong points. Like many auction sites, the sheer number of sellers means you'll probably never earn more than a fair side income, at best. And that's before we get to the overall chunk of income that you'll hand over to these folks. (In Etsy's case, plan on dedicating eight to 23 percent to them, Chou estimates.)

Given all the headaches involved, like the plethora of fees, and ever-changing policies, "you have to ask yourself whether you want to be doing all of this work for a site that you do not even own," Chou writes.

But, honestly, it's not a question of, "Should you use this site, or that one?" That's a distraction from the main issue. How do we ensure creative control over our businesses and livelihoods? How do we reach a point of owning as much of ourselves as possible, so that we aren't constantly at the mercy of mindless, unforgiving megabully, who'll toss their grandma (and all their blood relations) under the nearest bus, if that's what it takes to stay profitable?

How can we establish an alternative infrastructure that's durable and long-lasting, so that others don't have to grovel like their predecessors did, and leave the next generation to reinvent the wheel all over again? How well we answer those questions will determine what really is possible. Because, remember: ownership is everything. --The Reckoner

<The Reckoner>

Links To Go
Etsy Reports Third Quarter 2020 Financial Results:
https://investors.etsy.com/press-releases/press-release-details/2020/Etsy-Inc.-Reports-Third-Quarter-2020-Financial-Results/default.aspx

My Wife Quit Her Job
Why Selling On An Etsy Store Is A Bad Idea
Compared To Running Your Own Shop:
https://mywifequitherjob.com/etsy-stores/

Yer Psuedo Employer Isn't Yer Pal (A Day Late & $80 Short)

I had an unpleasant experience recently with one of my editors at the local paper. Having enjoyed a relatively stress-free April and May, June became an uphill financial struggle, especially the last couple weeks. First, Squawker and I ran out of the decent food. Then we ran out of crap food. With 10 more excruciating days to go, finally, I said uncle, and borrowed $100 from one of my best friends to help me squeak across the finish line. You get the idea.

With invoice time looming on Friday, I called up my editor, and asked if he could make room for a couple last-minute stories, including an update on this road project I'd written about before, and our county school district's 2017-18 budget.

At $40 per story, I wasn't looking for a Pulitzer, just the difference between a $360 paycheck, and a $440 one. Guess which one I wanted?

My editor hedged. “Space is tight tomorrow. You're coming up on an invoice deadline, I take it?”

“You got it.”

“Tell you what, just get 'em to me tonight, and I'll try to find room for 'em in the local section.”

A couple hours later, the email rolls in: “Sorry, No room at the inn.”

My teeth start grinding, and my stomach starts fluttering, but I don't panic. I do what any mercenary does in these situations: adjust my fees, as best as I can, to make up the shortfall. Add $10 here, $15 there, and presto! Now, I have $400, which is still short of my target, but patches some of the holes in my budget.

Fortunately, I've found another transcription company to work for, and I just got paid $100 for some copyediting/proofreading, so all's well with my little corner of the world...at least for now. Only for now. Remember: your bills never stop shooting across your desk.

But what's this episode prove? Your pseudo-employer isn't your friend. Start with the obvious: you're not getting niceties like health insurance, retirement, sick pay, or vacation pay. Your “gig,” such as it is, could end any time, without warning.

Your pay, such as it is, doesn't go up, but your bills never stop coming. How these matters play out isn't your concern, because you have no say over any of them (except in rare instances). Somebody else calls all the shots, not you. If they get the job accomplished with you, great. If they can get by without you, they will.

And, still, you get odd propositions that don't add up. I guess that's why my editor emails the next day, asking if I can cover a competition in a town that's about 30 miles and 45 minutes away. The contest is one of those small town affairs that winds on forever, typically around three hours. So, even if I tack on $15 for gas, on top of the standard $40 rate per story – I'll be lucky to make 10 bucks an hour, maybe, once you plug the round trip in the equation.

So, not surprisingly, I say no. Not only for the economic reasons, but the sourness that's lingering in my mouth over the stories that didn't get in. I'm thinking to myself, you can't put an extra 80 bucks in my pocket, but you want me to cover an event that's barely gonna cover my costs, for which I won't even get paid till next month? I don't think so.

What's funny, though, is how few people seem to grasp how much the Piecework Industrial Complex has changed the nature of work – often, quite drastically, but not for the better. A couple months ago, Squawker and I went to a panel of local state representatives and senators, where you could air whatever was on your mind.

A good 10-15 minutes of that got chewed up over the lack of health care workers – in other words, the underpaid aides and nurses who barely make more than minimum wage, because (as one supervisor charged) “McDonald's pays more,” or they're on welfare, and afraid of losing their benefits.

To which one of our local state reps responded, “Well, we need to address that. We certainly don't want to incentivize people not to work.”

I found myself asking, “Incentivizing what, exactly?” Obviously, this particular local politico seemed unaware of how many untold millions, Yer Humble Narrator included, are patching together several different situations – “gigs,” part-time jobs, temp jobs, whatever you wish to call them – just to pay all these stupid ass bills that gobble up what little they make, till it's time to do it all again next month. Sounds like fun, right?

It's funny – I recently saw Office Space (1997) again, late one night, and wondered how many viewers long for those days when they had a cubicle to inhabit, and a crap job that paid, well, slightly better than the norm – which meant they actually had a little bit of money for a few small pleasures.

Sadly, that doesn't seem to happen for many of today's prisoners of the Piecework Industrial Complex – such as drivers for Postmates, who find that many of their customers don't tip. In return, your car takes a beating, and you're lucky if you earn back the mileage it's racking up. Having fun yet?

I didn't think so, but I'm amazed at how many people seem resigned to such one-sided arrangements as their lot. The first step in tipping the balance is to stop accepting inequity as inevitably woven into our lives. Otherwise, I find repeating a line from one of my favorite local poets that sticks in my brain: “Will somebody save us from us?”

Never forget: no matter chummy your conversations or emails may get with the moment's favored gatekeeper or decision-maker, just remember – they're usually answering to someone else, so their interests aren't the same as yours. Your pseudo-employer isn't your friend. When your latest gig ends, he won't miss you, and you probably won't miss him. Your wallet might, though. Such is life. --The Reckoner

Links To Go (...just cut 'n' paste if they don't spring right away to life)

(Get Out & Make 

Some Money, You Lucky Gigger, You):

Salon.com: Need Proof That 

The Gig Economy is Painful?:
http://www.salon.com/2016/05/12/need_proof_that_the_gig_economy_is_painful_just_ask_people_who_work_for_uber_or_lyft/

The Bold Italic: How The Gig Economy

Profits Off Of Desperation:
https://thebolditalic.com/how-the-gig-economy-profits-off-desperation-47bc5f04d11b

The New Yorker: The Gig Economy

Celebrates Working Yourself To Death:

http://www.newyorker.com/culture/jia-tolentino/the-gig-economy-celebrates-working-yourself-to-death

Shining Mr. Lincoln's Shoes (Letter To The Powers That Be, 1998)

"He's a temporary contract man

Since the union lost its clout

Got no meds or benefits
He's living hand to mouth

"In the shadow of the monument

He finally paid his dues

Dying of a heart attack

Shining Mr. Lincoln's shoes..."

(Wayne Kramer, "Shining Mr. Lincoln's Shoes")

While rummaging through our proverbial back pages, The Squawker and I have run across some interesting artifacts of our past. That's one of the fascinating things about cleaning: you never know what you're going to find, of which the following letter (below) stands out as a good example.

We've racked our brains, but can't recall where the letter went. The date coincides with our brief (three-and-a-half year) flirtation with the urban bohemian lifestyle, but -- other than that -- we can't recall the destination. At first, I assumed that we'd targeted one of the local alternative weeklies, until The Squawker reminded me: "Have you forgotten all the trouble that you encountered with temp agencies?"

And that's when the penny dropped, as they say in England.  I did a fair amount of office temping when we started our big city tenure. My best experience came as a phone collector at a microfilm company, where the assignment actually lasted the full three weeks. Most of the "slow-pay-no-play" clientele in this situation were established businesses, which diminished much of the guilt that you might have felt (say) for pursuing the marginal earners...but I digress.

On the last day, our boss actually bought doughnuts for all of us contract types, which I've never seen anybody do before, nor since. The typical assignments, however, never lasted more than a couple days, or a week. On one occasion, yours truly found himself told not to return after putting in an eigh-hour shift rearranging and organizing shelves at a hardware store...because the owner came in, and didn't like the look of me. I still remember the paycheck: $64 for the day, of which $8 went back to Caesar in taxes!  Over to you, Mr,  Kramer, for that last verse:

"In the shadow of the monument

With those mop-n-bucket blues

His soul sang sweet surrender

While shining Mr. Lincoln's shoes..."

Eventually, I found a dreary office job that required 45 minutes of travel back and forth every day to some northern suburban enclave -- which, for awhile, seemed like a better bargain than patching together this or that assignment to satisfy the weekly and monthly bottom line. However, my lasting memory of those daily bus rides isn't the job itself, nor my co-workers, but the ugly '50s and '60s architecture dotting the town...great, big lumps of concrete with right angles and corners jutting out here, there and there, I'd always think...how much money did someone plunk down to get the village looking like this?

In any event, the following letter brings back numerous memories of my short-lived temping experiences, which The Squawker and myself saw chronicled in 'zines like Temp Slave -- then, and now, one of the few publications that told the truth about what was really happening then. I have vivid memories of seeing the Redi-Men buses cruising the city, sneaking a glance at the occupants as they kept their heads down, or gazed randomly out the window, wondering how to play the crooked hand that life had dealt them...feeling too exhausted to do anything about today, and uncertain if tomorrow might bring anything marginally better.

Few knew it then, I'm sure, but the system was grooming everyone involved for a new life...the 19th-century-style insecurity of the Gigger Nation, and the uncertain world of shining Mr. Lincoln's shoes.  The letter follows now...

December 13, 1998

OK, Folks --

Your latest fly-the-flag-of-capitalism pitch is like watching a multi-cubicle pileup on the interstate. You've lost track of the flying glass and metal shards because you refuse to see what you're seeing. Your smart-mouthed managers' work-hard-play-by-the-rules pitch is nauseating in all its naked dishonesty, so stark and stunning is the mental impoverishment on display here.

To recap -- only a complete fool, or Armani-coated apologist, is unaware that capitalism creates savage, unforgiving divisions in society. To shrug one's shoulders and say, "I'm all right, Jack, but if you're not, that's not my problem," sounds suspiciously like Marie Antoinette's parting words before those unwashed lemmings stormed the Bastille to kick her powdered-wigged ass. In an American society speedily returning to Twenties-on-Prozac levels of inequality, your commercial is a gross insult to working people dying on the vine, with nothing to show for all their college-educated, 50- to 60-hour workweeks except loss of meaningful benefits, and carpal tunnel syndrome.

Oh, and while I'm clearing out my chest's unbridled arsenals of rage against your slack-jawed, complacent idiocy, let's not forget that a great majority of wealth -- in America, or anywhere else, for that matter -- is inherited. My current boss currently owes his $1.2 million annual gross ($180,000 per month, you denim-clad morons!) to his dad's death in 1983. Like an old plate, the bugger expired, and his son cashed in accordingly -- who, incidentally, thinks nothing of cheating his own salespeople out of $25 commissions (or paying me $9.75 per hour, sans benefits).

Ah, there I go, getting pissed again, what's the use -- I'm sure some weaselly spinmaster at your company will fire off some mindless "now there, there, it's not all bad" letter, or the equally inane, "Aw, c'mon, man, it's just a commercial, can't you take a joke?"

Don't waste your time if either response emanates from your stinking spin mill. Save it for the Third World men and women struggling to keep body and soul together in your vast, octopus-like sweatshop network. I'm not sure if they'd be able to afford a corrugated tin shanty on what you pay them!

No Regards,
The Reckoner & The Squawker

CODA: PS...
Whilst looking around for suitable images to accompany these unfortunate recollections, I came across an interesting broadside from a German anarchist group that's launched a campaign to abolish temp work:

http://libcom.org/library/abolish-temporary-work-campaign-fau-iwa

The heading in the graphic ("Gleicher Lohn fur gleicher Arbeit! Leiharbeit Abschaffen!") roughly translates to, "Equal pay for equal work! Abolish temporary work!"...though, honestly, I preferred the original Google translation for the last half of the slogan ("Leiharbeit Abschaffen!" = "Temporary Exterminating!").

At any rate, you'll find some interesting commentary awaiting you, once you pull that translation trigger.  For more disturbing reading, look no farther than The New York Times ("Temporary Workers, Permanent Problems": 6/28/13):

http://6thfloor.blogs.nytimes.com/2013/06/28/temp-workers-permanent-problems/?_php=true&_type=blogs&_r=0

For me, the phrase that leaps out is this one: "The temp industry is expanding at a rate 10 times that of the private sector -- it's easy to speculate that this growth comes at the expense of full-time jobs." D'oh, y'think? Nah, never mind...anyway, to round things off, here's the song that started this whole meditation:

"Shining Mr. Lincoln's Shoes" (Wayne Kramer):
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9lgPoHKZZZE

"Happy" reading and listening, one and all...The Reckoner