During the Fall, I was hired by FEMA to work in Brooklyn. I actually started working on November with my step-father. He’s a die-hard Republican and manages to get jobs that certain people can’t. In a way, you could say he had some “connections.” But anyway we found out that we were hired due to the Hurricane Sandy disaster which left thousands all over New York City without power and homeless. Not only that but accessories such as cars were heavily damaged in the process of the storm.

I didn’t know what to expect my first day on the job. I remember waking up at 4am every day. Saturdays and Sundays to be exact, since I was trying to balance work & school. But working for two days was worth it. I was able to bring $200 something by the end of the week. As soon as I woke up, I had 30 minutes to get ready, eat, and leave the house because a van would be waiting for us a couple of blocks from my house. The van usually took 10-15 minutes to arrive and inside was always packed. I was actually surprised to see females willing to work, since I heard the labor was going to be quite difficult. But it turns out that most of the people in the van were immigrants and spoke little to no English. I would always sit in the back with my Hello Kitty headphones so no one would bother me with senseless conversation. The ride to Brooklyn from the Bronx took nearly two hours. Once we got there, we were made to give our information regarding pay, such as social security, name and what-not. After that we put on some suits that resembled hazmat suits and immediately the boys were separated from the girls.

Our first task was cleaning this huge parking lot. I can’t even count how many cars were totaled. As soon as we got there we heard that a couple of days before, the mud was up to the ceiling. Try imagining that. So the males in the group were made to sweep up the mud while the women held up garbage bags where we dumped the mud into. The bags were tied and thrown into a dumpster, and of course I was responsible for launching them.

I worked at Brighton Beach Avenue to be specific, within the Oceana Condominiums. I noticed that a huge portion of it’s residents were Russian, Polish, Ukrainian and from other parts of Europe. They always looked at us funny. Like we were inferior to them. But the hard truth was that they were immigrants just like us. Well, not me ‘cause I was born here but you get the point. It’s ironic. But anyway, they didn’t like us being there and said nasty things to us in their native language.

The entire experience consisted of us picking mud from several parking lots, cleaning filth off of cars so they could be towed & replaced, trying to scrape yellow fluid on walls with a broom, more sweeping, demolition projects, complaining, aches, and the newports we would smoke during every lunch break. Now that I look back at it, I realize my boss was a racist bag of dicks. All he did was discriminate against my co-workers, most notably making fun of the way they spoke. He treated people with no respect and for that we all resented him. I was treated slightly better than others because I knew English. But I didn’t let that get in the way of work. Sometimes the boss would show up wanting to see our “progress” but deep down, each and every single one of us knew he was on drugs. Whether it was coke, weed, or vicious shots of vodka -- the boss acknowledged our hard efforts. Even if it was for a couple of minutes. I would always come back home dirty from head-to-toe.

The Oceana residents were wealthy, and because of that they received help faster than other poorer communities. It was very unfair. In just three weeks, nearly all buildings on Brighton Avenue received electricity. Money had everything to do with it.

I guess it was pretty cool and interesting to work with people I’ve never met in my life. Sure, all of us were Dominican, but I felt like I didn’t fit in. They spoke in slang I couldn’t understand, and my Spanish itself was pretty rusty. I found it hard speaking to my co-workers considering the fact that they were 30+ years older than myself. They were married, divorced, had children, struggled to pay rent, and etc. All of which I haven’t deal with … yet. But it was nice to receive the occasional “talk of wisdom” from these older folk. I doubt I’ll be seeing those people again, but it was an okay experience. I felt like I really put myself to the test.