The Hidden Benefits of Low Wages

№ 6 will rock you on the cellular level

In my spare time, before I have to pry myself off the couch to wedge myself into my car to commute, eyes darting hither and fro, I’m adapting.

In Month Two, the spirt is breaking, just like they want. The mind is getting more powerful, much like a nuclear chain reaction.

To adapt I process my feelings — most of which are inappropriate and rattle around in my brain, screaming for a portal to the outside world.

Medium is that portal.

I‘ve’ tallied up all the non-monetary compensation to quell the rabid pinball thought-fragments from morphing into skull shrapnel, but in the end I realized I should open the hatch and let chaos fly like a cannonball clown.

Red and white and bulbous of the nose, and wild-eyed, hurtling through space towards a tattered net.

I’m fully committing to employment.

I embrace the future with a giant bear hug. I seductively eye Adulthood, patting the bed with a come-hither coyness that only serves to freak Adulthood out, because of my age spots.

This job is usually not worse than getting stung in face by wasps, which happened over the weekend.

Although it feels like the wasps mugged me, I’m still able to look at all the benefits of having a face.

And that is how I adapt — with a high tolerance for pain and absurdity and an inability to simply call an exterminator.

1/ Extreme bathroom access

We can’t leave the 9–1–1 station, so when nature calls we must grab the portable radio and take one giant step to the bathroom which has a sign that reads, “Dispatchers Only.”

It’s one giant step for emergency response, but one small leap for an old lady with an active bladder.

I saw the Police Chief use our dispatcher bathroom yesterday, but I said nothing.

Mama didn’t raise no fools.

2/ Random kolaches

The officers might be scary on the street but they are often kind to us desk bound support staff. Call it chivalry. Call it boredom.

Call it bribery, but I’m not complaining.

They might feel pity. It might be cynicism and eating whatever the hell you feel like, which are the sword and shield for surviving as a patrol officer.

They will pay sometimes, and pick up lunch.

It’s enough to rekindle your faith in society’s basic institutions. It’s enough to make me remove the Black Lives Matter bumper sticker from my vehicle.

3/ Lunchless

We don’t take lunch, because we eat at our desks. This means no half hour or full hour subtracted from the ‘ol paycheck.

I’ve never trusted lunch breaks at work. It’s always felt like The Man only offers lunch to extend your work day.

Sandwiches lose their flavor in the cubicle setting, and you’re forced to chose whether you should eat with a co-worker, take a walk, do an errand, or recline at your desk pretending it’s possible to relax.

4/ Sugar love

The break room is stuffed with piles of cheap, sugary aggression because the community is thanking us or trying to kill us with diabetes.

Citizens bring in platefuls of cookies, boxes of pizza, or trays of cupcakes on Tuesday. It’s often a church who remembers us but sometimes, the sugar is coming from inside the house when a co-worker deposits a half-eaten cookie-style birthday cake, or a dispatcher proves her womanhood through (unnecessary) baking.

“I had to get this out of the house.”

A forlorn look of defeat accompanies this stock phrase.

Currently, the break room features a full tray of chicken salad sandwiches, a box of 36 chewy granola bars, two dozen chocolate-chip cookies, a box instant miso soup, several cupcakes trapped in a plastic box, and a sleeve of Trader Joe’s mint chocolate cookies.

5/ Growing my network

As I mentioned, the Chief was in just yesterday, looking for information on a frequent flyer I’ll call “Jeremiah.” Cursory research showed Jeremiah to have over 230 encounters with our police force in the last eight years.

Apparently this screwball lives off grid and runs his generator night and day, so the neighbors hate him nearly as much as the Chief does.

I really wanted her to say:

“I’m gonna run this no-good bum outta my town.”

She didn’t, but the sentiment was written all over her face. The next day, Jeremiah was escorted to the jail in manacles.

The lesson is clear: if you have a warrant, turn yourself in today and sweet Jesus, turn off your generator.

6/ The G-word

I know things now about my neighbors, like where they live and when they are going on vacation and their middle names.

People bring up incidents in casual conversation and I now have knowledge and facts at my fingertips instead of my insipid opinions about Gossip.

Tragically, I usually have to bite my tongue, lest some kernel of personal information defame the character of someone with the middle name Milton.

I am also a mandatory reporter, which means if I see someone breaking the law — usually in the form of egregious driving — I have to report it.

So being in the know is a razor sharp, double-edged sword of potentially deadly papercuts.

7/ Knowing exactly when to break the law

We’ve all considered crime, especially writers who get paid bupkiss despite the brilliant insights we offer the world.

I won’t deny I sped through the neighborhood one morning because I knew for a fact that all the officers were changing shift and not a single prowler was prowlin’ these mean streets.

I applied my breaks only at the curves as if I were a Grand Prix pro. My greige Toyota felt candy-apple red, muscular, and for a moment — she sported a racing stripe across her back.

While I’m all for raising my car’s flagging self-esteem, I didn’t feel very good about myself, which is why I cannot do crime.

Final Gratitude List

What have we learned about public service?

You can make lemonade with lemons, even if you have no sugar and are forced to palm packets of stevia from a restaurant.

No matter what your sugar stores look like, you definitely need the lemons. No one is going to argue that oranges or apples will produce lemonade. In addition, no amount of sugar plus lemons is going add up to a hill of beans without a pitcher, martini glass, or other receptacle.

Do not confuse lemonade with confidence.

Life is a bowl of cherries, overpriced and slathered with pesticides.

Fruit metaphors have limited value, and who needs fruit when you can live on free cookies?

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Jean Campbell is based in Hot Springs, Arkansas. She has been writing on Medium for years and recently published her first novel, Down and Out on the Road South, with Wings ePress.