His Line Manager inspects it. “Yes, very nice” he declares and the Tweet meets the silent churn of output stacking across social media.
Peter asks before he needs to leave whether the Manager will be receive any word on the new contracts?
The Manager is affronted. Grumpy. “Sorry Pete, why do you ask? Now, just one or two last tasks.”
Peter and the Manger leave work together. They enter the underground, and a man with thick-gloves hands Peter and the Manager flyers before he boards the tube. ‘Keep the Guard on the train’ it explains. The manager laughs and tears up the RMT material in the man’s face. “Go back to your safe space.”
On the tube, Peter’s back shunts from sitting at the desk.
Gets home. Undresses, showers, puts on uniform.
Catches the bus to the hotel, clocks in, sits at another desk.
Holds his phone discreetly. Checks for job alerts. Tweaks his CV.
That night people tap ticks and become Uber drivers, cyclists sign-in to Deliveroo accounts, couriers crack open coffees and energy drinks.
Bulbs flicker in warehouses, staff cards swipe downwards, layards are donned.
If you work hard it’s been heard you might be hired for another term.
Weatherspoons will be looking for Christmas temps soon.
JB Sports wants a couple more on Saturdays in the store.
The staff of Toys are Us, BHS, Woolworths were out of luck.
Freelance, part-time, minimum wage.
Sorry, we don’t need you in today.
6am text, 45 min shift.
Rated less than 4.5 stars? Get the sack.
“I’ve sacked people for sitting down.”
Temporary contract, zero hours contract, fixed term contract... maybe CVs are seen victorious reaching the agency.
Online courses never completed. Deadlines came but they missed ‘em.
Still it took them out of the system.
Can you complete this online test?
How good is your English? What’s your address?
We need to take a phone number? Have you got a visa?
Sorry, we don’t need ya.
A sign on the bar door says: “Sorry staff, we’ve closed down.”
Take a pile of references into town.
“Get the one with the degree instead.
Get the one who doesn’t talk as much instead
Get the normal one instead
Get the bloke instead
Get the white one instead
Get the straight one instead
Get the one that can stand up instead.”
Obviously that’s only said inside the supervisor's head.
12 hours last month, 6 hours last week, zero hours this
Between shifts I’ll just grab a pack of crisps
Burn marks across MacDonalds staff wrists
Just stick it out, you bloody kids
Somewhere, whispering, at a desk sits
The ghost of a striker from 1926
Peter is in early.
“You know what Pete, I like you. You’re entrepreneurial. A go-getter.”
You know when you get a compliment, but it feels like the stab up your spine hurting?
“You like working”
The next Tweet Peter has to examine reads
“Youth unemployment in Britain is now the lowest since records began”
And, because he can, instead, Peter sends out a different Tweet, one not approved.
It’s a battlecry, it’s 280 characters of a raised fist, it’s bitter, it’s the thoughts between shifts.
And across the myriad of Followers and the Followed
Staff spy from behind the accounts they run:
Political parties, theatre buildings, chain stores and more
Film promotions, banks, radios and stately homes
Music arenas, football teams, gardening centres, and charities
Gyms, gritting updates, garages and universitiesv All packed with disgruntled staff like stretched, tense sinews
They take Twitter hostage and give the friendly blue bird a set of claws
Like and RT and add to Peter’s message like a hashtag class war
Across social networks it’s revenge of the interns
For a good solid hour it seems like the minimum wage workers are in control.
And then Peter is sent home. He’s not asked back.
He doesn’t get a new contract.
And across the world we who offer our labour for so-called freedom
Say we’re never going back.
I believe that we will win.
