ADVENTURES ON MINIMUM WAGE

by TJ Johnston/PNN Community Journalist

Part 1

Some people blithely reminisce of their first job. My memories aren't so wistful. Still, those memories resurface when I signed on as a petitioner for $6.75 Is Not Enough, the latest drive to increase minimum wage in San Francisco. Assuming this ordnance passes in the November election, the minimum will start at $8.50 for all local businesses. For those who scrape by on the current level, it's money gratefully welcome.

When I was high school, my parents recommended I get a job. They did so with enough edge beyond mere recommendation. My mother knew the manager of the local Howard Johnson's (HoJo’s) and pulled the appropriate strings. I joined the paid workforce as a dishwasher. At least this humble position served as a buffer between home and school.

If you never set foot under their orange roofs, HoJo's is a family style restaurant serving breakfast, lunch and dinner. They became famous for serving milkshakes. I remember Wednesdays there were Clam Fry Days. Before I became a vegetarian, I enjoyed their hamburgers.

Such, such were the joys of washing dishes at HoJo's. The tasks were drudgery. In addition to bussing and stuffing dinnerware in an automatic washer, I also had to take out the garbage, sweep and mop the floors, inspect the bathrooms hourly; in short, I did all the work that was beneath the waitresses, cooks and managers. As befitted someone in my station, I was paid minimum wage.

I started working evenings during the week and mornings on weekends. Weekdays were often dead, but business was brisker on those weekends. I had to wait hours for a lull where I needn't perform some busywork. I remember before an inspection, the staff had to scrub the place down. Most of my downtime was spent socializing with the waitresses who were also my classmates (no, I couldn't get a date with them). Sometimes I would chat with one of the cooks whose musical tastes I didn't share. Between that and his obsession with one of the younger waitresses, he didn't seem together.

Our HoJo's was located right off the town rotary and was open 24 hours. Senior year in high school, my routine changed. As the only dishwasher who was 18, I was assigned to work overnight weekends, often called "bar rush." I had to nap at home before work.

Between 10pm and midnight, it was busy, but the late night crowd horded in to eat after tying one on. Even if they weren't partying, at least they seemed to have more fun than I was. Whatever a normal teenage-hood was, spending 10pm to 6am working at HoJo's didn't fit in. Occasionally, I'd see some of my peers on their way home from Van Halen.
I brought a boom box to fill the kitchen air. It was better than the Muzak usually heard weekdays.

As an adolescent, I knew no better employment option available. I remember actually being paid slightly more for overnights than regular shifts. I had to accept that and having a legitimate excuse to stay out as trade-offs. Then I noticed that a cook who was younger than me and was hired after me earned a higher wage. I brought this objection to my mother. She told me not to complain or else, they'll replace me. So I brought my uniform home for repeated washings through graduation and winter break of my first college year. The next summer, I worked another restaurant nearby that wasn't open 24 hours. That job also sucked (but at least I made salads).

When I think of working minimum wage, I envision my colleagues as people working an after-school or summer job and still living with their families. It shocks me that people attempt to sustain families on these slave wages paid by the WalMarts and Starbuckses of the world. Factor in an increasing standard of living and diminished buying power of the working class and contrast it with the widening economic chasm, you could see how entire populations are truly being "nickeled and dimed" in the US. When I hear some "expert" proclaim that raising minimum wage spells economic disaster for businesses, I try to picture them in a HoJo dishwasher outfit, complete with silly paper hat. These employees face disaster without a raise. The pundits seem inured from this supposed fallout. If the current campaign to bolster the paychecks of SF minimum wagers succeeds, we could avert financial catastrophe.

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Part 2

Late June 2003--- I got a job petitioning for a San Francisco ballot measure to increase minimum wage: instead of the current $6.75 an hour, a floor of $8.50 is proposed.

It was fortuitous that I saw Supervisor Matt Gonzalez gathering signatures near a neighborhood Safeway and I asked where to join. Before, I was close to enlisting in a "Recall Governor Davis" effort. Increasing paychecks is something I could stand behind.

I ran to the headquarters of the petition drive and started the next day.

Exploring the territory of John and Jane Q. Voter in this town is already daunting. If they take public transportation to and from work, they already turn on a defense mechanism so they could ignore the clipboard brigade. The presence of other petitions further confuse would-be signers. Add language barriers and political disengagement to the mix and you have an idea of the challenges signature gatherers face.

Unlike others, this drive paid by the shift, not by the signature: it works out to $11.00 an hour and I get reimbursed for public transit. The major caveat, though, was that the boss expected at least 100 signatures of SF registered voters. She said it wasn't fair for her to pay the same to one who gets 100 and another who falls short by about 50 or 60. She said she just flew from Texas for this campaign and I knew she had a lot to learn about local politics.

In her article, "The World's Largest Gated Community," (Poor News Network, Oct. 22, 2002) Carol Harvey observed how the campaigns of Props N and R were concerted efforts to economically cleanse San Francisco. Gavin Newsom's Prop N, recently overturned by a state court, would have slashed welfare payments to the indigent. Prop R, a losing measure in the last election, would have displaced renters to condo conversion. The underlying intent of those measures' proponents is to evict low- to middle-income voters from the city electoral pools and make SF a wealthy enclave.

If the initiative makes the ballot, the city's super-wealthy will take the offensive. When I asked suit-and-tie types to sign, they doubt the need to raise the minimum: some espouse Economics 101 lessons, citing how increases drive away business. Despite the talking points I'm supplied with ( a recent UC-Berkeley study figures operating costs increase less than 1 per cent), I can't seem to convince them. Minimum wage to these folks are what their high school kids make folding jeans at the Gap. They're not likely to know anybody struggling to feed, clothe and shelter themselves on a meager paycheck. Their bartenders, maybe…

When you consider that California politics increasingly caters to older, affluent and whiter voters, it's not hard to imagine it's not a lightning rod issue for them. From these smaller ponds, the Establishment hopes to elevate their own favorite sons who will follow their agendas. A more diverse constituency that includes working class folk, students, retirees, naturalized citizens and others only makes it harder. Is it any wonder why getting so many valid signatures that difficult?

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