I remember stories my mother told me as a child — about the time that she worked in a factory — somewhere between high school, a waitressing gig at Chock Full O’Nuts, and college. It was then I learned that working to fulfill a quota was hard work, to be avoided if possible.
Elite colleges and Ivy League law schools were to be the savior from all that.
Yet as I sit here today. I’m working, making sure to fulfill my quota. This week it’s to review 1000 documents per day. A few months ago it was 200 documents per day, but the time I spent reviewing every document from log on to log off was monitored and I had a ‘talking to’ when I moved too quickly or too slowly.
When I worked for LexisNexis the quota was stated in characters, not words or documents, owing to the differing length of cases.
Today I’m working in an office with three other African Americans trying to fulfill their quota. At my last jobs the people and the demographics were the same. Our supervisors, young white men with less education and experience.
Sometimes it’s $25 - $30 per hour. The lowest paid was $15.38.
Am I working in a factory? The answer is no. Is my fate fundamentally any different than those of my fore-bearers?
Sure, I get to call myself a ‘professional,’ but in reality, we’re back in the factory again.
