Tag Archives: Johnson Wax

WTF America: The Squeaky Red Cog (Chapter 31)

Johnson! My Wax!

Working in the US provides some strange fringe benefits.

The squeaky red cog


It’s labor day in America. The day of discount mattresses. There are huge sales happening today, and I have become a man that now works these sales. Each day I’m toiling in the retail mines, loading dust covered merchandise into the carts bound for the surface. Once those carts reach the surface they are taken by myself, and others, and hammered and worked into deals. We’re not making the merchandise, I’m not working a sewing machine, I’m not spinning or harvesting cotton. I’m just a man putting clearance stickers on boxes of shoes.

Yes dear readers, after 5 years of unemployment back home, and around 18 months of self-employment as a wordsmith I have joined the regular working world. That world where you’re expected to be at a place, at a time, to do a thing, for 40 years until you die, and you get paid every few weeks a set amount. So that’s nice.

Because of something akin to an NDA I am unable to talk about the specifics of where I work and the practices therein. Also, because I’m not a dullard that wishes to lose his job, I’m not telling you where I work, or when I work, or who I work with. Any names referenced have been changed to protect the employed.