The First Shall Be
It was early, and the temperatures had already hit the 90-degree mark. It was going to be one for record books the meteorologist claimed on the television at the homeless shelter. Men poured out the doors—two blocks to the empty lot where the vans would be waiting for them.
Frank was there waiting. He had been taking men from this lot onto worksites for years. His nose stained red from the sun and wind, and his hands leathered from bricks and shovels, he was no stranger to hard work, but now his job afforded him to oversee. He picked up the men needed for a job, took them to the site, and then paid the men a fair wage for the day. He wasn’t into cheating people. All the regular workers from the lot knew that and they respected him for it.
The vans pulled out and left a few of men sitting on the brick wall of the lot. They were defeated, downtrodden, unfit to work—this was the story of their lives. “I haven’t worked in two weeks” screamed a tired older man as he threw his half smoked cigarette at the wall as hard as his tired arms would let him and began walking down the street.
“They might come back around and need more workers, and I don’t have anything else to do today,” said another man in attempt to encourage his unwanted comrades.
The sun rose higher in the sky and Charles finally opened his eyes to find himself drenched in sweat and lying on a park bench. He muttered something to himself, put the three empty bottles of malt liquor that were given to him in his cart and started walking. The lot was about 8 blocks away, but a few detours and stops extended his travel time greatly. He arrived at the lot just in time to see Frank the foreman pick up 3 men in the van.
Frank rolled down the window as he passed Charles, “Lots of work to be done today. We didn’t have enough this morning.” Without saying a word Charles strolled over to the wall to sit with a few other men who were without work for the day.
It was well after noon and the temperature was continuing to rise. Sweat rolled down Charles brow as he considered leaving the lot and going and sitting in the park for the rest of the day. Just as he got up to walk away Frank drove up and said, “Charles get in. I’ve still got some work to give you.” Charles got in the van without any hesitation at all.
When Charles got to the lot all of the men were hard at work. Charles picked up his tools and went to work. “Now that I’m here, I got to work,” he kept mumbling to himself. An hour after Charles had picked up his first nail Frank started yelling, “That’s a day pack it up. Everybody line in order that you got here—last to first.”
Frank handed Charles a check, and one of the men beside him saw the amount written, “You got paid for all day!” the man said. The men towards the front of the line began thinking how much they would be paid for the day since this man who had only worked for an hour was paid what had been agreed upon to the workers who slaved the entire day.
All the men were paid exactly the same.
“It’s not fair,” grumbled one of the men. “We’ve been here since 7 sweating our asses off, he gets here and works for an hour and you give us the same amount—bullshit,” said another. “We agreed on the day rate, right?” asked Frank. The men sat silent for a while, “Yea, but,” “Yea but nothing. I am not being unfair to you. I’m doing exactly what I told you I would do. I don’t really see a problem. It’s my payroll. Are you complaining about me being generous?”
Charles didn’t know what to do or say. “Thank you,” was all he could muster as he walked away.
The first shall be last.
