Standing for over eight hours on a busy day, packaging hundreds of pounds of rice, flour and sugar, scrubbing the floor after working hours and washing out dozens of kegs are but a few of the painstaking experiences of one reporter who, under cover, worked in a wholesale in downtown Kingston for a week.

All this for pay that can hardly cover a two-route bus fare for five days; and from observation, this was one of the better wholesales with more considerate Jamaican owners.

The Sunday Observer investigation was carried out in response to a research paper done by Ann-Murray Brown for her Master’s thesis at the University of the West Indies and which highlighted deplorable working conditions, as well as alleged widescale exploitation of women employees in wholesales in downtown Kingston.

MONDAY:

The week started out quite normally. I left home in time to get to ‘work’ by 9:00 am. I got to the store at exactly 8:30 am and stood outside waiting for the owner to arrive. At 9:30, he did. After being introduced to the other two workers by first name, I was told that the shop was out of stock, therefore there wouldn’t be much for me to do today. I was instead shown around and asked if I thought I would be able to manage.

“Well, you can try mi fi a week,” I replied. “If yuh nuh like di way mi work, den yuh can do yuh ting.”

“Fair enough,” came the response. “Yuh have to leave yuh bag wid di cashier every morning. When yuh going home yuh collect it.”

He explained that I also needed to take along a change of clothes since I had to deal with meat – which was the bulk of the business. The changing room/bathroom was near the door, which means you collect your bag, change, and then exit.

TUESDAY:

I arrived unavoidably late, as a result of an accident on Washington Boulevard that left two people dead and caused a one-hour traffic pile-up as far as the Portmore intersection. The boss wasn’t pleased. I took out my change of clothes and handed him my bag.

I went into the bathroom, which served more as a changing room because there was no water in the shower, the face basin or the toilet tank and bowl. Cobweb and dust were everywhere, an indication that it had been out of use for a long time. I couldn’t help wondering what the workers and owners used for relieving themselves.

I was immediately given a bag of flour from which I was to weigh two-pound packages. Since I was being watched, I made certain not to go an ounce over or below. I quickly mastered the art. This had to be done standing. When I was finally finished, a bag of rice was placed in front of me to be weighed and wrapped, and yet another, this time into five-pound packages. By 2:58 pm, I had weighed 300 pounds of flour and rice.

At exactly 3:00 pm, I asked if I could go out for something to eat, since no mention was made of lunchtime. My groin was by now cramped from standing and shifting from one leg to the next, while my right wrist was in pain from the constant motion of scooping.

One person had gone on the road and had purchased lunch for the others who sat down to eat, but would get up from time to time to serve customers who had come in. No one took a break per se. In fact, I was the only one who did. And so I made sure that I hurriedly ate and went back. In total, it took me 17 minutes to find somewhere, make my purchase and eat.

When I got back, the work was lighter. I was able to sit on one of the three stools provided and only got up when customers came in. By now I had gotten the gist of weighing not only flour and rice, but also a variety of meats and measuring different volumes of cooking oil. I also served items from the shelves.

I was happy when the store closed at 5:00 pm, but soon found out the hardest part of the day had only just begun. We went to the back room where the meat was kept and washed down the floor with soapy bleach water, washed the white cloths used to remove meat water from the countertops and tables, washed the two cutting boards (one was so large the owner asked if I was able to manage it on my own), utensils, and eight kegs.

I then went to collect my bag, changed and headed for the bus stop at 5:40 pm. The store was scheduled to be closed at 4:00 pm.

WEDNESDAY:

Since I did not want to scare off the boss, I had hesitated to ask about pay. So today I decided to tackle the subject. In fact, I got the perfect opportunity as one of the workers – the main cashier – had taken the day off.

The owner was sitting at the register, and the other worker, along with the owner’s teenage son (whom he had asked to stop from the high school he attended for the day and fill in for the cashier) was around the back.

“We neva talk bout pay,” I ventured.

“Well, mi was talking to [name of cashier] and we like the way yuh work,” he said. “We decide we would give you Wednesdays off and give you $2,800 for the week. You know the minimum wage is $3,200, right? So if you were working everyday you would get $3,200, but since you getting Wednesdays, we pay yuh $2,800.”

(This, of course, included Saturdays working from 8:00 am to 5:30 pm, while on Wednesdays, all stores downtown would have been closed by 1:00 pm.)

“What about other benefits? Like if mi deh ya long? Mi woulda get like vacation leave or sick leave or anyting like dat?” I asked.

“Well, wi just haffi wait and see, because mi nuh inna business dat long, so mi not even know how dem tings deh go,” he said, a ring of finality in his tone.

He then proceeded to ask where I went the day before since he saw me heading West. He was suspicious that I may have been sent by someone to “set him up and do him something”, as he put it. He went on to say that he took a big chance in employing me as he knew nothing about me except for what I had told him. I answered his questions as to where I lived, who I lived with and where “yuh sey you used to work again?” as best as I could.

Being Wednesday, the store closed at 2:10 pm, and after washing up the back room, I left the store at 2:30. I felt I had seen and gotten enough information and just did not want to continue in this line of work. But I reminded myself of the dozens of female workers in the wholesales, and the fact that for them this was a permanent thing. I couldn’t imagine how they did it week after week.

My editor encouraged me to complete the week and experience the busiest day, Saturday, so I hung on.

THURSDAY:

I served a lot of meat, but still had time to sit. In fact, of all the wholesales I had visited in my search for a job, this was the only one with a television set. I was informed from day one that during the week when things were slow I was allowed to sit and watch it. In the afternoon, I again packaged another 300 pounds of rice into five and two pound bags.

This time I asked one of the guys (the owner’s son was back) going on the road to purchase my lunch and stayed in to eat while I worked – like everyone else.

A discussion developed about wholesales in general, much to my pleasure.

“Government tell the chiney dem fi mek stool give dem worker,” the cashier said. “See dat woodwork shop deh?” she pointed across the street, “dem get order from some of dem [Chinese] to build stool. Yuh tink a joke ask (called the boss’ name) if yuh tink a lie mi a tell. Den it nuh come pon TV wah day!”

That answered one of my main questions: were they aware of Ms Brown’s study?

“Eeh, dem deh people de nuh easy, you tink yuh can even owe dem a dollar? Dem nah gi yuh dem goods,” one worker said of the Chinese store owners.

“So all when tings slow dem haffi stand up?” I chipped in.

“Mek dem nuh tan up nuh!,” came the reply. “A only di chiney people dem have dem seat fi sit down and cash, di gal dem haffi stand up all day.”

(The next day I got a chance to see this. It was lunchtime (well it was 2:30 pm) and I decided to buy bun and cheese from a Chinese-operated wholesale across the street. I noticed there were no seats at all in the store, with the exception of the elevated cashing area which had a chair occupied by a Chinese woman. Two girls were in the store serving.

One was about 22 years old, she was eating a pack of biscuits and drinking a bottle of ginger beer while she served. She was telling the person she was serving, who seemed to be someone she knew, that her stomach was hurting. She put her head on the counter for a few seconds. I asked her why she didn’t sit down for a while.

“Sit! Yuh mad, dem yah people yah!” she said, tilting her head in the direction of the Chinese cashier.

I went back to my store and realised that for some reason I had ended up working in one of the better wholesales. I couldn’t imagine having to stand for the entire eight hours everyday – even while eating.)

After I had lunch, I was asked to serve three pounds of chicken back. It was frozen, so I tried using the knife to take it apart. The knife slipped and cut my left index finger. Shortly afterwards, I was serving mutton, and in an effort to remove it from the bag, I was again cut by a piece of bone – this time on my right thumb. It started bleeding.

The boss told me it was all a part of the meat world and I would get used to it. Next, a woman wanted a pound of salt mackerel, I decided to serve her. When I put my hand in the keg to remove the mackerel, I saw stars – the salt water had gotten into the fresh cut. I left work minutes to six after the usual clean-up.

FRIDAY:

This morning when I gave the boss my bag, he seriously asked how come it was so heavy, if I was carrying a gun in it? I smiled and said ‘no, only my clothes that I just changed’. He told me clothes would not be so heavy and I told him that maybe it was a book that I had been reading while on the bus. I don’t believe he was convinced. I could see he did not trust me.

He left to stock up for the big day – Saturday. I served a woman pig trotters for pork hoc (I didn’t quite know the difference). I only discovered this later in the day when someone pointed out the bag of pork hocs to me. I prayed she wouldn’t return to complain before I ‘resigned’.

Ironically, stacks of the Observer were in boxes and bags for the purpose of wrapping meat. I nearly had heart failure when I noticed a copy of the all woman magazine sitting idly on a table. I tried to see which copy it was and if it had a story with my by-line. It did. My heart started pounding. Even though I had not given my full name, my first and married names could probably identify me. I decided I had to get the copy in my possession.

A male worker who was sitting close by watching the television picked up the newspaper and started flipping through. My heart beat faster. Luckily, someone came in to be served and the cashier asked him to fetch the order.

As soon as he got up, I picked up the paper, pretended to be flipping through, casually pulled out the page with my story, folded it and placed my elbow on it. The next person who came in wanted two pounds of mixed parts. After bagging the meat, I hurriedly wrapped it with the sheet of newspaper with my name on it, smiled and gave it to the customer.

Saturday:

This was the worst day of all! I was told to be at work by 8:00 am. I got there 7:35. The store opened at 8:30. By the time the store opened, two women were already outside waiting to be served. I went in, hurriedly changed and handed my bag to the owner, who was sitting at the register.

The day was extremely busy, so much so that two of the owner’s family members came in to help. By midday I could easily have served over 50 persons single-handedly. Each time I tried to leave to get something to eat someone would shout: “Pink blouse, sell mi. nuh!” and I felt compelled to turn back and resume work.

Again I came upon another copy of all woman and a story with my by-line. At least I knew today no-one had the time to browse, so I was safe. I used this sheet to wrap a pound of salt mackerel and sent it away.

Because the refrigerators with the meats were in a room at the back of the store, I got a lot of exercise making dozens of trips to and fro.

One customer, who said she had been asking me to serve her for a long time, accused me of ignoring her to serve other people. After someone else got her order, I pushed it up to the cashier. When I asked whose it was and whether or not the order was complete, she told me to take my *&%$# hand off her goods. I pretended not to hear.

In another incident, a woman paid for her goods and asked that the bag be left in the shop until she returned. I did not know the policy concerning this, so I ignored the request allowing someone else to deal with it.

However, I was aware that one of the guys took the bag, but did not turn to see where he was placing it. When the woman returned, she asked me for the bag I had put down for her. I told her I didn’t take a bag from her, but she insisted that I did. I turned to the guy and asked “Where did you put her bag?”

“Bag! Mi neva tek her bag,” he replied. But I clearly remembered he did.

I decided not argue with him. The woman insisted that I had taken the bag from her. I asked her what items were in it and went in search of it, to avoid an argument. After about five minutes, it was located. While handing her the bag, I told her next time to look who she gives her bag to. At that point, another worker came up to me and asked, “She a tell lie pon yuh?”

The customer grumbled and left.

By 5:30 pm, my stomach was beginning to react to having gone without a meal for over nine hours. But since I was told that the store would close just about this time, I decided it wouldn’t make sense to leave now.

However, at 6:00 pm we were still at it. It wasn’t until 6:20 pm that the shutters were drawn, albeit partially, and people were still coming in. The store finally closed at 6:50 pm. I sat down. I couldn’t go a minute more. Three minutes later, the owner told me to come and let us clean up!

Cleaning up was more rigorous than before. I washed kegs on top of kegs, scale bases, meat bags, utensils, cloths, and then scoured the floor.

I collected my bag and changed. Today, I smelled of meat more than other days, but since the shower had no water, I had to make do.

When I went back out, the owner handed me some money folded together. I unfolded it, counted it and thanked him. It was the $2,800 as promised.

“Remember that you get Wednesdays off,” he reminded.

“OK,” I responded, and left. It was 7:28 pm. My work here was done. I couldn’t help wondering how the average wholesale worker with two children or more could ever survive working for this.