Read Online Hand to Mouth: Living in Bootstrap America by Linda Tirado - Free Book Online Page A

fun. But then afterward, some people go home and relax.
    So I’d get up in the morning, walk to work at about five a.m., and wait tables from six to about noon. I’d be home by about one, at which point I’d pass out unless I had errands to run. Then I’d get up at six, shower and fix my hair for the bar, walk three miles, tend bar until one or two in the morning, and either beg a ride from a co-worker or walk home. I’d get home at two or three, unwind, take a short nap, and start all over again.
    Now, nobody can maintain that forever, and if I’d been lucky enough to get that many hours, I’d have been doing okay. The problem was that both these jobs were weekends or prime eating-out days only—three or sometimes four days each. So I’d spend Monday recuperating from the weekend, Tuesday trying to find better work (which also required more than a few miles of walking around dropping off applications), Wednesday taking care of the house, and Thursday taking a spare shift from one or the other job.
    In other words, my commuting time was comparable to a typical suburbanite’s: one, maybe two hours. Except mine was on foot, and it was to jobs at which I was on my feet all day. It’s why I’ve never felt much need to exercise; I spend hours each day lifting heavy things and bending into impossible positions to get through stockrooms. I’ve stood and repeated so many times that I can assemble a cheeseburger in twenty seconds flat, assuming it’s got multiple toppings. Less, if it’s simple. You get plenty of miles in while running around a retail store or factory floor.
    So I was either working or walking to or from work, aboutsixty hours every week. How did I spend my remaining time? Well, remember that I was walking. I lived in a fairly central location, but it was just about a mile or two from anything I needed, like a grocery store or a Laundromat. I did laundry twice over the weekend because I could make my clothes last two shifts but not three, so that was six hours. I went grocery shopping once a week, so that was four hours. I slept, so that was around fifty. I spent eight hours or so every week looking for work locally. I went to the unemployment office once a week to check the job boards, and that was five hours. I generally picked up a spare shift on Thursdays, so that was another six or so. I showered at least twice a day, what with all the walking, so that was about seven hours a week gone to washing or drying myself. And that leaves about three hours a day for everything else.
    I was always and forever dreading the next time I’d have to get off the couch. I would finally sit down, and I would realize that if I had any hope of waking up at a reasonable hour tomorrow, I really did have to be in bed in three hours, and the dishes still needed to be done, and the toilet needed to be scrubbed, and I’d promised someone I’d make them dinner because I owed them and they got sick and called in the favor.
    When some wealthier people sense an unwillingness in lower-paid workers to move faster than they absolutely have to, or to do much of anything with their free time, it’s because we are marshaling our resources. We’re not lazy, we’re stockpiling leisure while we can. I can’t tolerate more mental exerciseafter a full day of logistics and worry. Full capacity just isn’t an option.
    We start the day with a deficit. Most poor people don’t wake up feeling refreshed and rested. When I wake up in the morning, I’m in pain. If it’s ragweed or wood-burning season, I wake up with insane headaches. If I’m spared that, there’s still my aching back, stiff from a night on a mattress that was worn out long ago. There’s not a moment in my life that my mouth doesn’t hurt; my tongue is raw from touching broken teeth and my jaw isn’t any happier about them. (I fully realize that some of the trouble is that I don’t know how bad I feel. There’s no baseline, no normal “healthy” to compare an