I wonder how much of the women-in-industry movement is traceable to just that.
The first day I was at the dress factory a very dirty but pleasant-faced little Jewish girl said to me, “Ever try workin' at home? Ain't it just awful?” She had made thirty-two dollars a week beading at her last place—didn't know what she'd get here.
I had hoped to hear murmurings and discussions about the conditions of the garment trades and the unions—not a word the whole time. Papers were full of a strike to be called the next week throughout the city, affecting thousands of waist and dress makers. It might as well have been in London. Not an echo of interest in it reached our factory. I asked Sarah if she had ever worked in a union shop. “Sure.” “Any different from this?” “Different? You bet it's different. Boss wouldn't dare treat you the way you get treated here.” But as usual I was yelled for and got no chance ever to pin Sarah to details.
A group of girls in the dressing room exploded one night, “Gee! they sure treat you like dogs here! No soap, no towels—nothing.” The hours were good—8.30 to 12.15; 1 to 5.15. One Saturday Ada and the boss asked the beaders to work in the afternoon. Not one stayed. Too many had heard the tales of girls working overtime and not being paid anything extra.
Wednesday I went back after my last week's pay. When the cashier caught sight of me she was full of interest. “I was writing you a letter this very day. The boss wants you back awful badly. He's out just now for lunch. Can't you wait?”
Just then the boss stepped from the elevator. “Ach, here you are! Now, dearie, if it's just a matter of a few dollars or so—”
I was leaving town. Much discussion. No, I couldn't stay on. Well, if I insisted—yes, he'd get my pay envelope. My, oh, my, they missed me! Why so foolish as to leave New York? Now, as for my wages, they could easily be fixed to suit.... All right, all right, he'd get my last pay envelope.
And there was my pay envelope with just twelve dollars again. “What about my overtime?”
Overtime? Who said anything about overtime? He did himself. He'd promised me if I worked every night that week late I'd get paid for it. Every single night I had stayed, and where was my pay for it?
He shook his finger at my time card.