FIVE STARS OR FIRED
Side hustle serfs.
FIVE STARS OR FIRED
Every car owner
can become
a taxi driver, courier—
techno-fascist billionaire’s tool.
.
With a trusty GPS
and canned bulletproof coffee,
this guy owns
Rain City.
.
He plows
through atmospheric rivers,
masters
parking strategically.
.
Wipers off,
he locates the address quickly,
before the pho gets cold.
Five stars or fired.
.
He works discreetly
to woo posh influencers—
a cam model in the back seat
en route to dinner with her agent.
.
The vodka-breathed
entertainment industry professional
on his way to a Bad Bunny show
and another Tinder debacle.
.
He ignores her racist remarks,
the executive’s fetid cologne—
discretion
might warrant a tip.
.
He ignores fatigue,
the growling stomach,
nature calls,
gnawing trepidation.
.
There is no time for dread.
Back to the algorithm,
clever, classless and free—
we side hustle serfs.
.
In many ways, the gig economy works for me. I started a residential cleaning company when I couldn’t find a “real job.” It was hard work—driving all over the city, cleaning houses, hunting for parking.
But I set my own fees and hours—no more ‘up at the crack of dawn.’ I’m conscientious and meticulous, traits that serve me in housekeeping as well as in composing poetry. I can agonize over a word or a line length as thoroughly as I eliminate every offending crumb or stain.
My son teases me—calls me OCD. I’ve turned it into an advantage.
The drawback, of course, was no benefits. When I freakishly broke my arm—thanks to an unruly folding chair—I didn’t qualify for workers’ compensation. I resorted to GoFundMe while I convalesced.
Naturally, corporations love the gig economy. Like most systems, they’ve turned exploitation into a science.
C’est la vie. Here and now.
Photo: Aleksey Cherenkevich @ Unsplash
Five stars Heather!