My employer once gave an exhaustive address about garbage. Preaching values through allegory, nothing to do with the value of our labor, only the landfill bound widgets we'll be constructing for mass consumption every hour of each day.
He asked us about breakfast, whether we wanted to be the pig or the chicken. I snapped out of a daydream. You see, he says, the chicken provides eggs for breakfast, but the pig sacrifices himself for one meal; bacon, ham, sausage.
I raised my hand
Yes, you in the back. Pedro is it?
I was Pedro to him. Sure, whatever. I stepped up to the mic.
I'd be the chicken. I’ll produce far more food and participate in more breakfasts than the pig. The applause were few. He thanked me for my remarks.
A few weeks later I discovered the plant was closing down, moving to El Salvador by years end. The company counts on them to be the pigs for breakfast. The standard of living is much less down there claimed a coworker. Said he could live like a king if he moved there.
So, Why don't you?
Brother, I can't just pick up and go. Terry and I just bought the house last year.
Where you gonna go? I asked, thinking about my own short term fate. Back to Discount Tire? You were a manager there?
Jerry looked every bit the part of a worn out middle aged man, tummy, grey stubble, and deep crows feet around at the corner of his eyes. There was no “pep in his step.” His stint as a high school teacher wore out. The children were grown. Their mother had long moved on and built a new family. He had a golden retriever with a white face and arthritic joints.
There had to be a better way to make money, he thought. One without being a martyr, the pig for breakfast. Making meth amphetamine was not a viable option. Selling his belongings wouldn’t fetch much but could help lighten the load in case he had to move.