Huffington Magazine Issue 22 | Page 77

HUFFINGTON 11.11.12 NO WAY OUT not get to most of the jobs. “They’d ask me, ‘Can you get here?’ and I’d be looking at the bus schedule,” she says. “I’d tell them, ‘I’ll figure it out.’ A lot of temp places don’t even want to hire you if you don’t have a car an d you have to take the bus. If you call a temp agency and say, ‘Do you have any jobs on the bus line?’ they will flat out say, ‘No,’ and hang up on you.” The agency that hired her for the job at the Amazon plant cut her a break. She started on the morning shift, which required that she arrive by 6 a.m., but that was impossible given the bus schedule. The boss offered flexibility. “She told me, ‘Whatever time you can get here, that’s when you start,’” Smith says. She started last spring. Since then, she has earned about $500 every two weeks, saving as much as she can toward securing an apartment. She has investigated the motels that have become de facto housing for low-wage service sector workers, but rejected them as a trap. Most would absorb most of her pay, leaving with her with almost nothing toward the security deposit she needs to get an apartment. The one motel she could afford — one that charges $125 a week — sits in a neighborhood known as Red Bank, which is devoid of bus service, making it impossible for her to get to work. Back in her Atlanta days, she was making $26 an hour. Now, she is at the bottom of the American wage scale, but she celebrates this as a beginning. “Seven twenty-five an hour is better than zero,” she says. “I’m going to work, and if I have to continue to walk, I will. I will do whatever I’ve got to do, except get on my knees or lie on my back. It’s tiring, it’s frustrating, it’s rough, but you’ve got to crawl before you can walk.” This is the thought that drives her as she leaves the abandoned house and heads for the bus stop, trudging through the muggy southern Tennessee air. She is working night shifts lately, so she makes this trip in the mid-afternoon. On a recent day, she is wearing a faded and too-big black T-shirt bearing pink letters: “MOTIVATION 101.” She got it out of the donated clothes closet at the Community Kitchen. A purple backpack is slung over her shoulder, holding the ID card that gets her into the Amazon plant, the debit card on which her paycheck is deposited, her driver’s license, her Social Security card.