The following narratives were assembled from oral and written contributions from Employees J, K, and L, three individuals with recent Amazon warehouse work experience. All three provided general information, while J related the personal experiences in today’s episode and K those in tomorrow’s. All three employees reviewed the final draft for accuracy and fidelity to their experiences.

If you live somewhere in flyover country like I do, you might have seen billboard ads for jobs at an Amazon warehouse. That’s where I work, and my shift has just begun. I carry around a small device called a scanner. It asks me:

How do you feel about working at Amazon? (1) Great! (2) Great! I’m proud to work at Amazon!

I select the correct answer and begin my ten hour shift.

I work as a picker. The scanner tells me to fetch a book on a particular shelf. I hurry to the shelf, rummage through a box containing children’s toys, clothes, sex toys, and other assorted objects, and find the book. I throw it into a tote on my cart and then the scanner tells me to get a new item. When the tote is full, I put it on a conveyor belt.

It’s a bit like being a peon in Warcraft. While trying to keep up with the target rate of 100-120 items an hour, I walk about 12 miles per shift. As I hurry past the shelves, I’m always under surveillance. Throughout the warehouse, there are videocameras every ten feet – literally. Thousands and thousands of them.

You aren’t allowed to listen to music or audiobooks while working. The stated reason is that it would represent a safety hazard, but you are allowed to wear earplugs to protect your eardrums from the incessant noise, so I’m not sure what’s up with that. Sitting anywhere at any time is also considered a safety violation. That, we are told, is why there are no chairs in the warehouse. If five minutes ever passes without you accomplishing a task, the scanner informs management. This, combined with the independent nature of each individual’s tasks, makes conversation a short random gift from the gods.

I’m not sure if I will have to come in for mandatory overtime this week. They expect us to be available for at least one extra shift each week and sometimes give us only a day’s notice. Thankfully I don’t have kids, so I don’t need to worry about scrambling to find child care when the automated phone call arrives.

There’s the quiz question again:

How do you feel about working at Amazon? (1) Great! (2) Great! I’m proud to work at Amazon!

I’m about to select (2) as always, but I recently figured out that there’s a way to scroll down the screen (it involves an orange button and the number 8, in case you were curious). This reveals two more answers:

(3) I wish I was working a job using different skills. (4) Prefer not to answer.

“Huh, that’s funny,” I think to myself. “I wonder how many other people never realized that there were extra answers.” At any rate, the correct answer hasn’t changed, and so I select it.

A special time of year

Peak season arrives, and we are now required to work sixty hour weeks (six ten-hour shifts). When I get off work, I hurry to do laundry and other necessary errands, and the rest of my time off is spent watching TV and Netflix. I know I should do more, but my brain just wants to unwind.

My scanner has another question for me:

How do you feel about this statement? “Amazon gives me all the training I need to do my job successfully.” (A) strongly agree (B) agree (C) neither agree nor disagree

I’m about to respond, but mindful of my previous experience, I realize that there might be additional hidden answers. I scroll down and, what do you know, there are two more options:

(D) disagree (E) strongly disagree

As usual, the correct answer was in the first set. I select it and continue with my shift.

Those of us who have stuck around for a while sometimes get rewarded by being assigned to “indirect work.” This involves ten hour shifts of replenishing stacks of totes, taking them off conveyor belts, or emptying out large bins filled with used cardboard. It’s just as monotonous as picking, but maybe managers think it breaks up the monotony of the week. Sometimes I’ve talked to workers who are unhappy about missing out on these special assignments. However, I’ve heard that they plan in the future to decide who gets indirect work based on a computer algorithm, and then there won’t be any basis for complaints about unfairness.

To interrupt the routine, I go to the only place in the warehouse without cameras in plain view: the bathroom. Inside, a new factoid is posted above the urinal. It reads:

When asked whether they had all the tools necessary to do their job correctly, 82% agreed or strongly agreed! If you ever feel you do not have adequate training, please contact HR.

I’m stunned. 18% of the people did not give a positive response to an obviously loaded question that might threaten their company prospects?? You respond to the question after logging in, so it’s not like they don’t know who you are.

My ears start ringing

Despite wearing earplugs to muffle the noise of conveyor belts and other machinery, my ears have started ringing. I go to an urgent care clinic and meet a professional doctor. She talks to me compassionately for more than half an hour, gives me a small amount of Prednisone, and recommends wearing headphones over my earplugs at work. In her official report, she says she suspects the symptoms are work-related.

The next day at work, I am grilled about my symptoms and sent to an occupational health clinic. The Amazon-paid doctor I meet chats with me for ten minutes, glances at the other doctor’s report, and then tells me my symptoms are certainly not work-related. “I’ve been in those warehouses before, and they’re not that loud,” he explains. I told him the other doctor disagreed. “They’re going to take my word over hers,” he answers. “If the noise bothers you, maybe you could try wearing earplugs?” I grit my teeth.

He’s right – the Amazon worker’s compensation people deny my request to see an ear, nose, and throat specialist. I try to call them back and speak with the doctor, and receive a message telling me that he isn’t in and they can’t take messages.

It’s starting to seem really clear that I should have majored in econ and not English.

Some time later, after about half a year on the job, I decide to quit. Of the twenty-some workers that signed up with me, only one is still there.

If you are still puzzled over the meaning of the title, read tomorrow’s installment, in which all will be made clear.