Power

      It was very simple to Santos. There was absolutely no way he could save his house with the pay he was being offered. He could refinance his house and stay in his home, but the payment would be almost $4,000 a month. His wife made about $2,500. If he didn't make at least as much, he wouldn't have enough to get to and from work, and that was leaving alone eating.

     If Esteban had a job and gave over everything, they could just survive. But Esteban had just two shift a week now, and it looked like they may lay him off entirely. He was talking about getting another job, but it just appeared like there was no way.

     Unless he held out for more. Unless he stood his ground and said him and Esteban would get paid or they would walk out.

     Labor militancy had always seemed the parvenu of the lazy and incompetent, and, above all, privileged. He had never been represented by a union, and he had previously never had a desire to. But now, things were different. Representation would change the ability of management to make one-sided decisions, and, because he was not represented by one, he had no recourse.

     The owners could claim poverty and that was that.

     Well, he decided, since there's only one way, he had to do what he had to do. He picked up the phone and he called Mr. Drummel.

     "Hello?"

     "Yes, Mr. Drummel, it's Santos."
     "What is it?"
     "I'm not coming into work today."
     "Oh, no, what happened? Did you break down?"
     "No. My car is fine. I'm fine. I'm just not coming into work today."
     Mr. Drummel on the other end of the line felt a shiver go down his spine.

     "You mean you quit?" Mr. Drummel said. 

     He'd been through this a million times with the cashier girls. They would work a week or two and then decide it wasn't for them, or they would work for several months and call and make ridiculous demands, probably because of a sudden cash crush due to drugs.

     He'd never caved before, and he wasn't going to cave now. But he never thought Santos would do such a thing. Never. He had all the respect in the world for Santos before.

     "Why should I quit, man? What have I done?"

     "Well you don't want to work. What do I call that?"
     "Well, Mr. Drummel, I can't step foot through that door being treated like I am by you and your family, so you decide what you have to do."
     "I don't have to do anything," Mr. Drummel said. "That's what at-will employment means. I have been very good to your family over the years. My God, we pay you a fortune."
     "I never heard you complain while we were making money."

     "I'm not having this conversation with you," Mr. Drummel said. "I have a position for you, if you want it, but the terms aren't going to change. If we get busier, I will give you more hours. As business is now, I can't. If you're willing to throw away what hours I can give you because I can't give you everything then so be it. I'll miss you, but we will manage without you, if we have to."
     Nr. Drummel was giving himself a pep talk. He could feel his bones creaking just thinking about doing the load by himself.

     "Well, do it then," Santos said and hung up the phone.

     Santos could feel the blood in his head beating. He felt good, but as time wore on, he felt less good.

     "I'm making the right decision," he told himself.

     Mr. Drummel on the other side said the same thing, and went out to help Rafael with the load.