Riding the Chance
I Hate Weekends
I hated my job,
My Boss was the biggest
phoney who ever lived. He worked
us like slaves because we were
illegal aliens and had no choice.
He would deduct money from
our meager salaries for lateness
for taking a lunch break, and the
only reason we had two days off
a week is because he wanted two
days off a week now that he had
a new girlfriend.
One of my co-slaves told me that when he first started working for Migs, (as they
called the Boss) it was seven days a week. Then, Migs met a woman he wanted to be
with, so started to cut hours then close the office on Friday at about 3 to be with
her, which is how we got a weekend.
The good thing about Migs is that he didn't trust anyone, so had to physically be
present to watch us work.
As horrible as the job was, as killing the week, I dreaded my two days of solitary
confinement. I felt so alone, so cut off, so frightened
Letting Go and Grabbing
During the week I pretended
I was Diana Lopez, illegal alien.
I would lie, but Migs didn't
allow us to talk to each other.
The few words I could exchange
with my co-slaves was only
when he was absent or busy.
On the Weekends, when I was me, there was no way to cut the vicious husband I had escaped out of my life. He was in every corner of the room, in every move I made,
Often I recalled his nice days, and had to force myself to recall the not so nice days
The horrible times I had to keep alive to prevent the need to go 'home'.
To the 'home' I once had before it got so bad.
I had no one to talk to. And in many ways, i couldn't imagine how I would find
anyone to talk to. Because I just wasn't 'there'.
The money I was making was subsistence, and I knew, soon, I'd be flat broke,
with no way out. I had to do something before it reached that stage, and that meant
getting a real job with real people.
And that's when the idea of joining the Navy came in.