I work in an Amazon warehouse. We make the last sorting process before delivering the products to the front door of online shoppers. The word “sorting” pretty much covers the workflow in that station. It has three steps. The first step is unloading, where the packed and labeled products are unloaded to the warehouse. The second is picking where the packages are packed and sent to designated carts according to the label information. The third is stowing, where we scan the barcode at each package and stow them to delivery bags. Finally, the bags are loaded to Amazon vans for the final delivery.
The warehouse runs 24 hours and sorts 80k or so packages every day. Stowing is the most hated position. Imagine, narrow aisles, high stacking bags, and mountains of packages waiting to be stowed. The stowing device, a cellphone shaped scanner, sends data to the control station. In this way it keeps the track of each package, as well as the stower’s work. Here comes the true reason why stowing is most hated — you are totally under the eyes of the manager through the device. And stowing is the only working position that has a tracking system. All other positions have no record related to individual workers. The outcome totally depends on workers’ integrity or mood. That means, the system doesn’t recognize the workers who work hard, nor does it red flags the slow ones. If one day you want to know how you have done the stowing that day, you can go to the manager station to ask for the stowing rate. It’s just a simple number, 200, 300, representing how many packages you’ve scanned per hour. To assure political correction, the managers avoid giving their personal opinion it’s a good rate or bad. “Good job” have lost the sense of compliment, it’s just a standard working language.
Because it’s hated, the managers try to send the new hires to the stowing position so that they will see less resistance. We were hired in the fall of 2019. For the first three months, stowing was the only thing we did every day coming to work. Very soon some started to complain, some left. Those who remained just got closer. Not only because we came in on the same day, but also we shared the hardship and rates around the stowing work. Often times, we also shared laughs. At that time, Michelle and I became working buddies. I never asked Michelle about her age, but I guess she was middle thirties. She lived alone with a dog. Actually she had a good job working for the county office. But she wanted to change her 15 years Corolla to a Honda Accord. She told the manager the first day that she would leave as soon as she got enough money for the down payment. Very soon, Michelle and I became two good stowers. For me, I never felt stowing was hard. For Michelle, as she said, “I don’t want my stowing rate look ugly.”
It was winter already. Social distancing was a phrase not invented yet at that time. In the break room we sat next to each other, talking and laughing. One day Michelle came to us saying that was her last day. She took out some snacks to share with us. We joked and pitied about her leaving. I asked her, “What have you got today? This is your last day. They should give you some easy job.”
She was still stowing. “It doesn’t matter,” she said.
At the end of the shift, we stayed in the break room to say goodbye to Michelle. She came really late from her position, apologized, “sorry, I must check my stowing rate before I forget.” We all paused. Then I said, “Hi, this is your last day, and you are not coming back. Why does it matter for you?”
She said, slowly, “It does matter for me. I want to do better than yesterday.”
I felt I was hit by something. Something that I thought I’d never seen since I came to this warehouse. To pursue simple management and respect personal status, Amazon is likely trying to erase the recognition between good and bad. But in the lethargy there is still light that sparks toward goodness. When the material life becomes abundantly rich, the cry of better self may be fading away, because, “it doesn’t matter.” But as long as the heart of human beings is still beating, the sound of “it matters” will never die.
I have never seen Michelle since she left. Ten months since I came to the warehouse, I am still stowing. None of the hires at our time is still doing this regularly. Not only because I don’t feel it’s hard work, but also, I know there is a number that could tell me I am doing better than yesterday. Now I am the №1 shower in my team. Often times people come to me, some I even don’t know. They look at me and ask, “How can you get that stowing rate? It’s impossible.”
I know they are not looking for an answer. But I answer it anyway in my heart:
“Because it matters. I want to do better than yesterday.”
