Sick Leave and the Shop and Save Deli

 

                I am home for two days of work. I had a slight fever that broke Sunday night, and a positive covid test, so I am following the protocols and staying out of work for 48 hours, post fever. I am feeling better; I am growing restless. Growing restless because of sick leave is a luxury.

                Right after college, I worked at the Shop and Save deli department. It was a decent job. Thirty five or so hours week—although they occasionally cut you back so that you knew you were not an officially Full Time employee, entitled to real benefits—within a five minute walk of home, that paid better than average wages. The deli team was a bunch of people in their 20s, some recent college graduates, like me, and some local Dover folks who had graduated from high school, married, and had a kid or two. We got along. We had each other’s backs, covered for each other, had preferred nasty tasks (mine was putting the walk in freezer in order) that we did, even if it was not officially our job that week. No one was mad when you accidently dropped a gallon of Italian dressing in the cooler; they just directed you in the best clean up techniques. There was some flirting with Produce. It was not unusual to hear the phone ring at six thirty in the morning, asking you to cover an early shift because someone was sick (or hung over), but agreeing to do so gave you leverage later on schedule changes. The system worked because we were all healthy and did not abuse it.

                But then, a really nasty flu season hit Dover. People came into work looking kind of pale and exhausted, but they needed the hours. It was winter, with high heating bills. No one could afford a week off. We all worked the deli counter, shouting over each other, trying to distract the couple who started making out half way through ordering their thinly sliced imported ham for the week. We all handled the food—sliced meat, crab salad, salad bar fixings—all day, every day. We were constantly washing deli juice off of our hands, but it was not an official scrubbing. It was tight quarters back there, too. After a couple of days of powering through, the first people called in sick. Could not get out of bed. Had no choice. Others filled in for them. What could you do? People want their ham. The second wave of employees powered through a few days and fell ill. One or two from the first wave came back to fill in, but they were still sick. Just less sick than their peers. We rotated through that flu for several weeks, short-handed and exhausted, until we were finally back to normal.

                The store had no back up plans for a wave of illness. I am sure the front end cashiers and the other departments were also hit hard; we all shared the same windowless break room in the basement. I don’t know if it occurred to them to bring in people from other stores in the area—if other stores were also hammered by the same virus. But I have always felt like the grocery store, specifically the deli department, was the center of that wave of illness. We were all sick and working. We had no choice.

                And that has been the story of some many people during this pandemic, from the very beginning. People still want their ham, so others have gone to work, even when ill. Bills need to be paid, so people go to work, even when they are infectious. I have the absolute luxury of sick leave—even if I do have to wrestle the online system for a sub and set up lesson plans, knowing only about half of what I say will be done—I can take a day or two off without destroying the family budget or letting down my team. Huge chunks of the country can not. And that is both unhealthy for us all and morally wrong.