Thread: 8 MILLION STORIES: GRINGA IN THE HEIGHTS

KRISTEN BONARDI RAPP was ready to love her Washington Heights neighbors—if they’d let her.

By Kristen Bonardi Rapp


The day I moved to Washington Heights, a kid stood on the sidewalk and stared at me. It was sweltering that day, and even though it wasn’t the most practical choice for moving day, I wore one of those tank tops with the built-in bras, so I immediately feared the worst: I must have popped out of my top while picking up a box. Why else would an 8-year-old boy stare at me like that?

I looked down. I was decent, but he was still staring. Then it became clear: I was the white lady moving into this Dominican kid’s home. I made eye contact with him and smiled uncertainly, as if to say: Sorry, kid, it’s true. I live here now. The kid looked away.

Choosing Washington Heights had been easy: It was affordable, and it was in Manhattan. What else did I need to know? As I packed up my old apartment in Boston, I read Washington Heights’ Wikipedia page as if it were scripture. I learned the neighborhood had been a refuge for European Jews in the 1930s and ’40s, who were then displaced by Greeks in the 1960s. By thata time, Washington Heights had become “the Astoria of Manhattan.â€

Kristen Bonardi Rapp
Former Wal-Mart employee, Massachusetts
In her own words:
"I was working an overnight shift in another store that needed help doing inventory, along with a dozen of my fellow employees from my home store. When we got there, we were told that we would have to work a 12-14 hour overnight shift with only 60 minutes break. When the group of us protested, some of us even asked to leave, we were told that all of the doors were locked and would remain locked until morning so we might as well stay and work.

We were told that if we chose not to work, well, who knew what sort of repercussions there might be for us. Almost everyone went back to work. Two other associates and I decided that we would not work all night without a break. I went into a back office and waited for maybe an hour or two, trying to figure out what to do next.

I called my boss back at my home store and told him this was unacceptable and someone better let us out of this building now. After he told me it wouldn't be "the Wal-Mart way" to call the police, I decided to do just that. As my two co-workers and I started to leave the back office, a manager (whom I hadn't seen before) stopped us and asked for our names and what we thought we were doing back there.

Remebering this now, I can still feel how scared I was at that moment. I knew if I got fired, I would be in big trouble. I had no money, no savings, nothing. I lived from one paycheck to the next, and even then sometimes I couldn't pay all the rent. Despite being scared, I said who I was, spelled my name, and said I was going home, now. After my co-workers did the same, I took the longest walk of my 22 year old life to the front of the store, picked up the phone and called the local police.

In one big rush, I told them where I was and that the bosses wouldn't let me out of the building. Whoever it was on the phone at the police station said, "No, that wasn't okay and someone would be right over to help me out." I hung up, incredibly relieved, and waited a couple minutes until the police came. Two officers came, popped the lock right open on the Wal-Mart doors and before I could even say, "here I am, I'm the one who called," the manager suddenly appeared as though this happened everyday: "Well, hello, guys, what can I do for you this morning?"

The officers said they had been dispatched and they wanted to speak to the person who had called. My co-workers and I, as well as the manager, were each taken aside to give our statements. Work in the building had pretty much come to a standstill at that point, so everyone was told to go home. When I got back to my home store, I was "given" a couple days off (without pay) to decide if I still wanted to be a part of the Wal-Mart team. When my own boss looked me in the eye, as I sat there with my name -- Kristen -- pinned to my shirt in capital letters and said, "You're just not the same Christine you used to be," I knew I had my answer. I never went back to work there. It meant that I had to quit (and would therefore not get any unemployment benefits) and it led to several months of being very poor, to the point of being on state aid, but I never regretted it."


More Wal-Mart Worker Stories:
http://wakeupwalmart.com/workers/kriste ... -rapp.html

Exit polls claim that 96-98% of blacks including so called republicans are voting for Obama BECAUSE HE IS BLACK while the same polls show under 15% of whites REFUSE to vote for him because he is black, the media had a field day claiming PROOF of white on black racism, when 98% of blacks will vote for skin color, so who is really most racist?
Believing someone can do something because of his skin color is just as racist as saying he CAN'T because of his skin color!

When we got there, we were told that we would have to work a 12-14 hour overnight shift with only 60 minutes break. When the group of us protested, some of us even asked to leave, we were told that all of the doors were locked and would remain locked until morning so we might as well stay and work.

They locked us in every night at the "other" big box store as well. not inventory, but stocking. That's the one I quit when they expected me to put my kids in a shelter and sit locked in this store all night while we were waiting and wondering if a cat 4 hurricane was comming ashore. Due to the weather there were no shipments but they expected me to just sit there so someone would be in the store. Was my last straw for a whopping 5.75 an hour and 7 years of BS.