Rehmat Sakrani
IDC 1001H
Professor Hoffman
Due 12/6
Dreams Burned Down
It was an ordinary day. I knew what my day was going to look like even before it started. I knew exactly what I would do the next day and the next. I would get up out of bed, sit up and check the time, put on my right slipper and then my left. I would walk across, in between my mattress and the box I used as a dresser, to go to the bathroom. Once inside the bathroom I will pick up my blue toothbrush (because pink is obviously too mainstream) and I will brush my teeth with toothpaste. If you are wondering what brand, it’s probably one you’ve never heard of because cheap brands don’t have to advertise for folks like me. Once I’m done brushing, I’ll go across the room to my little stove and put my saucepan of water on top of it to start boiling for tea. If you’re wondering why I don’t have a kettle it’s because once again, I can’t afford it. There’s actually a lot of things I can’t afford. I have five outfits, one for each day of work (because I spend my weekends in my pajamas), and if I didn’t know how to sew patches, I’d have another expense at hand. My mother taught me how to sew since I was a little girl. As much as I don’t like to mention her now, I do have to give her credit for teaching me a skill that allows me to work.
Okay back to me. I know you’re probably thinking my life’s a mess and that I can’t afford anything but that’s actually where you’re wrong. You see, I’m living in my own place while working a full-time job. What more could a free, single woman want? The reason I don’t like mentioning my mother is because if she were here right now she would be frowning with disappointment. I didn’t turn out to become the ideal daughter that gets married at a good age to a good man and cooks while taking care of the children. I know that was an easier route to go with, but I don’t want to turn into my mother. Times are different now. My mom doesn’t understand that. Now, women can work and help out in the household a lot more than they used to be able to. Just take a look at all the women I work with at the shirtwaist factory. We all have a story and we all want to make it somewhere. I know making it to this city was a big enough deal, let alone trying to get my name out there. That’s why you don’t hear me complaining. So when I have to use a cheaper toothpaste or a saucepan instead of a kettle. For me, that’s okay. These are just roadblocks on the way to something greater.
My goal as of right now is to work for some time and save up enough money so I can afford some better outfits. Once I can do that, I’m going to start going to auditions in between work and try to land a role somewhere. My dream is to be an actress or showgirl of some sort. I love to sing and dance, and I want to prove my mother wrong. Women have the ability to do anything they set their mind to, just like men. It’s just that men make more money so they have more power. At the factory where I work, our bosses are evil, evil men. All they care about is their product being made, even if it hurts someone mentally or physically. We actually experience a lot of accidents within the factory but no one pays attention. I understood why my mom wanted me to be a housewife like her, so no one out in the real world could hurt me.
I knew however, that when I came to New York City, it wouldn’t be easy. I knew that there would be hardships and obstacles that I would have to face, but to me it was worth it. I want to make something of myself. I would’ve tried college except my grades weren’t very good (another reason to be a housewife) and my family is quite poor to say the least. Besides, most girls don’t really attend college in this world. Most girls don’t even go to high school. I was just lucky enough to go to high school. If your family is even poorer than mine, you’re probably start working as a child then. Like I said, these factory owners and managers don’t care who you are as long as you get the job done. Whether you’re a child, a mother, a young schoolgirl, it doesn’t matter, they’ll treat you the same way: as a worker, a laborer, maybe even as a servant.
That’s why I want to get out of this job as soon as possible. If I didn’t have a career goal in mind I probably would not have been able to endure this for long. I look at all the young immigrant girls and consider myself very lucky because not only am I educated, but I am working as an adult. Most of these workers are young teenage girls who don’t even speak English properly. I feel bad because they not only have come to a new land but then they work to support their families and cannot even think about what their own dreams are. Now after working for about a year at this factory, I’m used to watching these young girls who’s faces are being drained of hope, more and more every day. I see them fighting through their hardships but also see how they rely on their families and how their families rely on their hard work. They’re dedication makes me feel guilty at times because in order to undertake my dream, I left my family behind selfishly. I keep telling myself it’s okay because I want someone in my family to break out and if I don’t do it then maybe no one will for another decade. I also think it’s okay because I want to pursue my dream and if you’re willing to work hard for your dream then it’s validating.
However, my dream, like I mentioned before, is on hold as of right now. Although I’m making enough money to save up and pay the rent of my studio apartment, it’s hard to live in a studio apartment with two other roommates, especially after working a twelve-hour day. As labor unions fail again and again in getting better working hours and wages, it just shows how powerful bosses like mine are and how they continue to keep that power. My job is in the Triangle Shirtwaist Company factory, located in the top three floors of the Asch Building on the corner of Greene Street and Washington Place, in Manhattan. The factory is truly a sweatshop and its owners are Max Blanck and Isaac Harris. These owners are like the powerful owners that I was describing earlier. They make young women like me and many of us immigrants, work in cramped lines of sewing machines. One of the biggest problems is actually getting to work. These days only one of the four elevators work and getting upstairs is such a time consuming hassle. There are talks of dangerous practices because of our cramped working spaces but I think people just like to make rumors. I’m sure by now there are some measures undertaken to prevent any serious problem that could occur. But Blanck and Harris are quite cruel and have anti-working policies. I wouldn’t be surprised if they didn’t do anything to make our working conditions better because they simply just don’t care. We work for twelve hours, seven days a week and we’re paid merely fifteen dollars a week. I’m not sure how much longer I’ll have to do this in order to just go to one audition. Yet I think it’ll be worth the sweat in the end.
**One Month Passes**
I think today is going to be a good day. I’ll tell you why. I went to a thrift shop recently and was able to find the greatest steal on an outfit. But that’s not even the best part. I walked outside of the thrift shop, after making my purchase of course, and saw that they’re holding auditions for a backup singer tomorrow! I’m going to ask my bosses if I can leave work a little early to go, so hopefully he’s willing to compromise. So far the week is off to a great start.
**The Next Morning**
“What’s that blaring noise?” I thought to myself. OH crap! That’s my alarm! No, no, no, I cannot be late to work today. Today of all days I need to show my bosses that I’m loyal and work hard so that I can be let out early! Okay you can do this. Just multitask. I realized last night that I don’t want to wear my new outfit to work because I’ll sweat and get it all dirty. So I’m taking it with me in a shopping bag, hoping I can find a place to change in, before the audition starts.
Hopefully, I can land this audition. Not only will it allow me to address my mother, maybe in a positive way even, but it will also help me to quit this job so I can focus on what I really want to do for the rest of my life.
Thankfully, I am one step closer to my dream. I was able to get to work on time and get right to work. Now, I just have to find one of the bosses during lunch time (whoever’s in a better mood) and ask them to have mercy on me and let me leave work a little early. I’m trying not to think about the other response that I could get from my bosses but I’m not really sure what I will do if they don’t let me leave early. I could quit and leave but I still really need this job and this audition is not at all guaranteed. I just really hope they understand because this is the first time I’m asking for anything and I’ve been working here for over a year.
As lunch time comes around, I go to my bosses’ office and knock on the door. “WHAT? I’M BUSY!” is the only noise that came from the door. I knocked again. “Sir, can I please come in? It’s important.” I waited. After a silence, I heard, “Come in, and MAKE IT QUICK.” I went in. Surrounded by papers and telephones, came a voice asking what was so important. I told him my need to leave early and when he heard why, I felt the mood shift in the room for the worse. The paper in front of his face was lowered as a thundering voice boomed: “AN AUDITION? Young lady you are not going anywhere! Now get back to work and make sure you skip your lunch break today!” Well, at least now I know the rest of my day will be unbearable.
I walked back to my machine and continued sewing. I didn’t even feel like eating lunch now, so I guess it’s better that I work. I just hope the rest of this week won’t be as bad as today has been. There still may be a chance for me to escape at night for the audition but that depends on what time our bosses leave. Fingers crossed!
There was about an hour left in the work day when I tried to sneak out. Unfortunately, I was caught. Now, they’ve locked the doors to make sure we don’t leave. You may be surprised but this isn’t the first time that this has happened. So we all knew there was another hour left of torture before we could flee. Tomorrow it would start all over again.
Saturday morning. Shut off the alarm, get to work. No auditions in the near future, but it’s okay I’m not giving up. I got to work and starting sewing. Around the afternoon time, a fire began in one of the rag bins. That was normal however, and it was on the other side of the floor so the people around it would take care of it.
After a few minutes past, the stench of smoke had not dissipated. In fact, it had gotten stronger. My side of the floor started to take notice and saw the fire spreading out of control. We heard screams and immigrant girls were shouting in foreign languages, but I knew what they were trying to say. Get out of here. Since we were on the top few floors, it took a while for us to get down when using the elevators. I could feel everyone’s hearts pounding. We all ran out and ran towards the door. Only to find out it was locked. Now we had no windows and nowhere to go. Some of us, including me, tried to go back up but that was the biggest mistake of our lives. We ran tried to divert the fire and find windows. Looking back, there was no other option. I looked at the flames and heard the screams of my floor. Then I looked at some of the girls around me and we all agreed in silence. Together, we held hands, and one by one we jumped. Jumped to our unpredictable futures. Jumped to be free of all constraints, of all responsibilities, to be free of survival. And all I could think of, as I stood on the ledge, was why I was naïve enough to think that my dreams were valuable. I’m sorry mom, you were right on this one.
