Free Nickel and Dimed: Undercover in Low-Wage USA by Barbara Ehrenreich

Well, actually one person does. As I search for the exit, I notice a skinny, misshapen fellow standing on one foot with the other tucked behind his knee, staring at me balefully, his hands making swimming motions above his head, either for balance or to ward me off.
    Not every place is so nonchalant. At a suburban Wal-Mart that is advertising
a “job fair” I am seated at a table with some balloons attached to it (this
is the “fair” part) to wait for Julie. She is flustered, when she shows up after
about a ten-minute wait, because, as she explains, she just works on the floor
and has never interviewed anyone before. Fortunately for her, the interview
consists almost entirely of a four-page “opinion survey,” with “no right or
wrong answers,” Julie assures me, just my own personal opinion in ten degrees
from “totally agree” to “totally disagree.” [9] As with the Winn-Dixie preemployment test I took in Key West, there are the
usual questions about whether a coworker observed stealing should be forgiven
or denounced, whether management is to blame if things go wrong, and if it's
all right to be late when you have a “good excuse.” The only thing that distinguishes
this test is its obsession with marijuana, suggesting that it was authored by
a serious stoner struggling to adjust to the corporate way of life. Among the
propositions I am asked to opine about are, “Some people work better when they're
a little bit high,” “Everyone tries marijuana,” and, bafflingly, “Marijuana
is the same as a drink.” Hmm, what kind of drink? I want to ask. “The same”
how—chemically or morally? Or should I write in something flippant like, “I
wouldn't know because I don't drink”? The pay is $6.50, Julie tells me, but
can shoot up to $7 pretty fast. She thinks I would be great in the ladies' department,
and I tell her I think so too.
    What these tests tell employers about potential employees is hard to imagine, since the “right” answers should be obvious to anyone who has ever encountered the principle of hierarchy and subordination. Do I work well with others? You bet, but never to the point where I would hesitate to inform on them for the slightest infraction. Am I capable of independent decision making? Oh yes, but I know better than to let this capacity interfere with a slavish obedience to orders. At The Maids, a housecleaning service, I am given something called the “Accutrac personality test,” which warns at the beginning that “Accutrac has multiple measures which detect attempts to distort or 'psych out' the questionnaire.” Naturally, I “never” find it hard “to stop moods of self-pity,” nor do I imagine that others are talking about me behind my back or believe that “management and employees will always be in conflict because they have totally different sets of goals.” The real function of these tests, I decide, is to convey information not to the employer but to the potential employee, and the information being conveyed is always: You will have no secrets from us. We don't just want your muscles and that portion of your brain that is directly connected to them, we want your innermost self.
    The main thing I learn from the job-hunting process is that, despite all the help-wanted ads and job fairs, Portland is just another $6-$7-an-hour town. This should be as startling to economists as a burst of exotic radiation is to astronomers. If the supply (of labor) is low relative to demand, the price should rise, right? That is the “law.” At one of the maid services I apply at—Merry Maids—my potential boss keeps me for an hour and fifteen minutes, most of which is spent listening to her complain about the difficulty of finding reliable help. It's easy enough to think of a solution, because she's offering “$200 to $250” a week for an average of forty hours' work. “Don't try to put that into dollars per hour,” she warns, seeing my brow furrow as I