In Glendale where I work I have been reprimanded for bringing a book to read at lunch. It looks as if I’m putting myself above other people, I’m told. People here worry a lot about communism, but in China they’re actually living the Cultural Revolution.
My desk mate in training class chain smokes and swears fluently in Greek. She teaches me to say “go to the devil” under my breath.
Two other women train with us. Marvel, a mother trying to get off welfare, has trouble paying for a pair of shoes, let alone daycare. Vivian is Black, or as she corrects us, Brown, which is also her last name. Our instructor tells us none of us would have been hired under normal circumstances.
We get invitations to come back on the weekend for cookies and lemonade and movies about not smoking marijuana. We never go.
More than half the women in the office show visible signs of pregnancy. The manager calls me into his office to ask if I know why.
We try to learn customer service from scripts. We must not deviate, however we question everything. Our instructor develops visible hair loss. We keep questioning. Everything we say is recorded.
After two months, I know more about totalitarian societies than I learned in four years of comparative politics.
I give notice. They tell me I can come back whenever I want.
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