This has been several years ago, but is likely to have continued; as far as I know, Kroehler Furniture is still there and I know Foothills Staffing has gotten itself a nicer, newer office off of suckers like me—both have prospered off its victims so remain fine capitalists.  When I looked into the upholstery program posted on Indeed by Foothills I wasn’t sure if I should take it; another notification had me deciding to take it about a week later; Foothills told me the job “Didn’t pay thirteen dollars an hour.” 

Because I was looking for something new, so wasn’t on the look-out for sharks with multiple chins, I signed myself into financial doom.  When I went back to Indeed to tell others I was no longer available, I learned I’d been had.  Others at Kroehler weren’t hot about the situation so soon quit.  It was the case that some were making thirteen dollars an hour while they weren’t.  They’d been snookered, too, by one of Foothills’ pigs.  My guess is Foothills is seeing who will make it through the program; maybe that’s what it is, maybe they’re gauging who’s a pussy and who isn’t.  New hires anyway, are put on the ottoman line and trained—at varying levels of pay.  The surprises don’t stop there.  Within about a week, me and "M" (who I would much later see at Sheetz, when he was working at the “shopping cart factory”) both of us were soon in Kroehler HR (he was a terrible upholsterer).  Since pay was a sticking point with me, I asked if we’d be making thirteen dollars an hour or what.  I was under the impression we were about to be hired permanent; HR is where things happen (I was once told during an interview for a previous job I didn't stand a chance at "HR rules the world”).  Me and "M" were both told by an HR youngster in two languages that we’d be driving on our own dime to Morganton to take some sort of test that would determine our success in upholstery—which was off to a shaky start already.  What Kroehler did not say was what would happen if we flunked the test.  I was told by Kroehler to clock-out, drive to Morganton, take the test and return ASAP to work.  I did exactly that aside from taking the test (and stopping by Sheetz for a cold soda, I wanted that badly).  I’d been juiced already so arrived at the appointment they’d set for me disgruntled; I was driving to Morganton on my time and money. 

The problem here more than labor getting fucked is health care’s role in the scam; health care is seen as a scam already by many.  To my knowledge I have not gotten a response from filing an ethics complaint with Blue Ridge Health Care; that’s been about a month ago, I return every call I get (even if I’m certain enough it’s from China).  The employee, which included others than me, has no idea they’re driving themselves to financial doom.  Everyone on “the floor,” however, tells you right away what’s going to happen if you botch the test.  Kroehler doesn’t tell you that and it should; Foothills never mentions it during hire.  Both Kroehler and Foothills did a fine job of maintaining head games.  I played more of those than I did assemble sofas and ottomans.  Being as I didn’t take the test I was taken off the ottoman line and sent to what I think was called “Panels.”  Over time, it appeared others putting together furniture were working harder than we were in “Panels” but seeing as we were still handling upholstery it appeared to still be upholstery to me (during a secret-police meeting I didn't know was probably already scheduled, I was told by the upper class that "Panels" wasn't "real upholstery").

Another aspect of the con on your paycheck is your duties are summed-up with being paid for "General Labor."  You're smart: After having probably been screwed all your life like I have, I don't have to expand on the grey area "general labor" is all about--it means anything, like how mobile you might get in the future where escape isn't part of the plan.  I know from a previous job that being moved around isn't good; after all that time, money and planning for themselves, Kroehler doesn't want you to leave. 

If you wind-up doing nothing but empty the trash the Man considers it a "win."  If you quit, they have to hunt for new blood; Jim Jones operated in much the same way.  What I’d been doing for some time by then was harassing Foothills.  Indeed was unaware it kept sending me a job I was already doing; so I kept answering Indeed by re-applying for it.  It’s how I reminded the system as often as possible how it fucked me—and others; Foothills knew I was already at the job I kept applying for.  Some people botched the test so flunked it; it’s like a machine where you flail your arms and legs—it’s an odd thing. 

I’ve been through boot camp so had a lot of tests and weird medical shit—I’d never been on anything like the upholstery assessment; I didn’t flunk the helo-dunk and we did that several times--if you fucked that up you would momentarily drown (everyone passed, either calmly, in a panic or both).  I probably would have passed had I attempted the “upholstery assessment” but I didn’t; I went through the motions so I’d get the lowest score ever, while coached by a health care ninny (which I believe was physical therapy) to not give a fuck the entire time.  One woman who was hired maybe a month after me got sent to Morganton, too, with no knowledge beforehand of what she was getting into (she may still be there, I have no idea).  She flunked so was doomed to make less until she quit or gave in to poverty she had no idea was coming; I have no idea what became of her.  While I was working in “Panels” an odd thing happened.  My checks showed I was making thirteen dollars an hour making me right that the test was pointless but wrong in my assumption that I’d “won.”  I was soon afterwards sent back to the ottoman line; the head games, at this point went a little like this.  Foothills emphatically told me during hire that if I had any question about the assignment to call them—I worked for them, not Kroehler.  I had no idea what that was all about although it’s clear now.  But when I called Foothills about the obvious more than once I was rudely referred back to Kriminal Furniture.  "Boretz," who was Kroehler Overlord II, told me Foothills didn’t know shit—that I was with Kroehler now so was not to listen to Foothills "That woman doesn't know anything about what goes on in here."  An additional problem was the schedule; if you didn’t work Saturday you were out of a job—this was additional reason to keep wages as low as possible however they could pull it off.  We were (at the time) at forty hours by Thursday, worked a half-day Friday (or possibly an eight-hour shift, it’s been awhile) then worked a half-day Saturday (I no longer recall if we worked eight hours Saturday, either).  By Thursday I’d had enough of upholstery—by Friday I’d certainly had enough of upholstery.  By Monday I’d had enough of upholstery again; we were essentially having only one day off a week—Monday got there quick.  The shift began at 6 A.M. 

"Boretz" is probably the best example of what a schedule like that does—he complained in meetings that he couldn’t get a date because he was at work all the time.  I hope he dies there.  The simple math is that some doing other jobs, like Quality Control, weren’t making even twelve dollars an hour.  I couldn’t believe that when I found that out—it’s why they were there on Saturdays as any idiot would know, except for "Boretz" who was doing everything he could to have a Saturday off so he could do normal things like get some pussy.  I noticed couples there; I won’t insult anyone over why that was happening.  When overtime hit on Friday I went as slow as possible technically making me a fortune. 

On behalf of the bottom-line fuckery, I'd shoot fifty staples into pockets right in front of management who knew I was steaming and why.  It was clear that everyone in Kroehler management and an office on Bryan Boulevard was in on the game.  The way I saw that is that when gravity took over, consumers would never figure out why staples were on their floor every once in awhile and not on a real schedule, either, hopefully driving them mad.  After returning to ottomans from "Panels" a few weeks later another event occurred.  My check dropped to twelve dollars an hour again; I kind of expected that, though, being as I didn’t know what to expect at that point aside from a good fucking from the cause. 

As you might guess, the thirteen dollars an hour check looked much better—it gave me purchasing power.  Now I was back to not exactly participating in the economy again unless you count being used and exploited; thirteen dollars an hour made me feel better, too—I felt like a human being who mattered.  It fooled me into thinking I was vital to the overall picture so was a real American.

While others quit or walked around butt-hurt I fought for my money—it wound-up only costing more although freedom is free; after being returned to the ottoman line (where a twenty-something donut refused to learn upholstery altogether so stayed in “Panels”) I got corralled into HR again—sweet-talked on the way by the ottoman manager who knowingly led me to my doom, where, after I entered a secret-police meeting, some white Darth Vader figure from the country club looked down his nose, claiming I was aware everything I was getting into by driving out to Morganton—that HR told me everything I was getting into, when, in truth, no one’s told anything by either company but are informed by their co-workers who’ve somehow remained human beings. 

Golf Sucker also snooted that he had a job for me driving a forklift instead, that, of course, paid even less peanuts six days a week or you’re fired—how much it paid he omitted—it was clear they left out a lot of things (I also lacked a forklift driving license).  I sent an e-mail to Kroehler HR soon afterwards saying something along the lines of "Fuck your secret tricks and your captain, young lady."  I didn’t appreciate the Gestapo atmosphere—further resistance, of course, plus the truth of how Kroehler conspires with Foothills, got me canned altogether. 

Before being thrown out I did learn some upholstery along the way—at night, at around 6:30 P.M. when it was time for bed again, I was seeing ways I could do things faster or better—it’s how minds work that want to get somewhere; upholstery isn’t that hard, actually, it just looks that way if you're watching the old pros.  It’s not strenuous; there’s no heavy lifting, you don’t get that dirty or sweaty, even if you’re a walking inner-tube who smokes.  Despite how defeating this obviously was, I doubt either Kroehler or Foothills has learned any lessons, except for Foothills' fat, new office where more suckers can join the club well-within the fire code.  As I was filling out the application at Foothills someone came in with a shorted check—I would soon join him, about five minutes later.  "Boretz," on orders of the plantation owner who lacked the nerve and desire for dirty work of any type, deligated or necessary, bounced me out of Kroehler, claiming he didn’t know what was going on.  I left a bar in Europe like that, after retching in the men’s room—we’d overdone it like we did as soon as we could (in those days, the night was still young).  I was slinging stout like it was fresh crude when the owner came in, flipped over my sudden dark side I didn't see coming myself and ran us all out of there.  As of now, as far as I know, the enablers in Blue Ridge physical therapy haven’t responded so do not appear to push ethics like they push second-class chumps into what was never a living wage to begin with, if they passed; I’ll check my e-mail  aw