The Minimum Job

“Unexpected item in bagging area” the do-it-yourself checkout machine scolded. A light and a loud beep went off as I proceeded with the on-screen instructions. I wasn't trying to steal anything, the machine was just behaving uncooperatively. The complete lack of any reaction from any of the store staff or other customers told me that this was the norm. Machines like this are the consequence of bad economic policy, let me explain.

Witnessing the poverty and hardship that some individuals suffer just to make ends meet is hard to bear. Our hearts go out to our brothers, but not so often our wallets. This is what makes some people cry out, “Raise the minimum wage!”. Sensing opportunity like a shark smells blood in the water, politicians are quick to take on the task. But when populism trumps reason, it is these very same, vulnerable people who suffer most.

It seems like a great idea at first. Raise the minimum wage, and all the poorest people get a pay rise overnight. The greedy corporations take a hit to their profit margins and the world becomes a better place. Alas, if only it were so simple. Such reasoning discounts the reality of why anyone has a job at all. Wages are a price, someone’s wage is worked out in the marketplace of supply and demand according to the productivity of the person.

By setting a minimum wage, the government is effectively mandating a minimum level of productivity. It is saying that if you you can’t do something that it is worth someone paying you $10 and hour for, you must not do anything at all. After all, the only reason anybody ever gives anyone a job, is because they want to make money. If the employee costs more than he or she is worth, the employer is going to do something.

One thing the employer will do, is pass the costs on to the consumers. Some corporations might be making a lot of money, but margins are always razor thin. There is no way companies can absorb the costs of a mandated wage hike. The resulting price increases leave less money in the hands of consumers. Once again it is the poor who are worst off.

It gets worse. By effectively removing the first rungs on the career ladder, these unfortunate individuals end up never being given the opportunity to learn on the job. Even some high school dropout getting paid next to nothing for filling up your car with petrol and wiping your windscreen is learning a lot of valuable skills. That person is learning to get up early and show up on time. Also, by hanging around the petrol station, he or she might learn enough to become a mechanic. It certainly does them no good to force them to stay home, what would that do to their self-esteem?

Employers will also try and find more ways to reduce the number of people they have to hire. Expensive machines, like the one I was using, become a more attractive investment. Even though the customers might not like it as much, they are preferable to higher prices. Fewer waiters, fewer barstaff means slower service, but as we vote with our wallets and reward the establishments that can give us the best value, employers quickly find they have no choice and make do with less staff. Countless petrol station attendants, bell boys, ushers, fast-food workers and, as the machine in front of me testifies, cashiers, have lost their jobs to the minimum wage law.

Where such jobs that do not meet the imposed minimum level of productivity still exist is in the black economy. Forced underground as they are now illegal. Just like any other measure of price-fixing, the minimum wage leads to shortages and black markets.

“But that’s not fair” you might well argue, how is somebody supposed to raise a family on less than $10 and hour? How can they afford to pay the rent? That’s no way to live in dignity. Such hardships are real, but the reality is that forcing fewer people to have a few dollars an hour more will not change such hardships, it will only make them worse. Also, why should we assume that every job is for the primary wage earner? What about young unskilled people still living at home, making some extra money for themselves and their family. Should they be expected to raise a family? Is everyone who works expected to afford his or her rent?

Pointing back to a time of greater hardship, the minimum wage apologists bring up anecdotes of coal miners, dock workers and sweatshops. Such exploitation, though real, was preferable to those workers than the alternatives, which often was a life of agricultural subsistence. Increasing productivity and capital investments lifted the masses out of poverty, wage rates were steadily increasing and sweatshops disappearing long before the minimum wage was introduced [1]. Then what good has this measure accomplished? Politicians can take credit for making exploitation illegal, it sure sounds great, but they are just jumping in front of the parade of economic progress and as a result, they are getting in the way.

Lastly, but perhaps most importantly, there is the freedom aspect. Why should not a man be free to chose for himself if a job is worth his while? Who am I, or anyone for that matter, to get between two people who freely chose to exchange money for labour? Be weary of well intentioned crusaders, populist politicians and unexpected items in bagging areas.

It's the least you could do

[1] - http://www.measuringworth.com/uswage/

The Thin Ice of Customer Satisfaction

“I met Jesus, his name is Bob”, our companion told us in all seriousness as we sat on buckets on the ice. “I was out ice fishing, just like now, I hadn't caught anything all day. Everyone had left and I was about to too.” he continued as we sat and watched the dormant fish traps we had set around us. “I was about to pick up my gear when this old bum, smoking Marlboro 100s, walks up to me, ses his name is Bob and asks me how the fishing was going. He looked real scruffy, so I didn't really wanna talk to him. I told him I was just leaving.” he paused to take a swig of his beer, “Just then he points over my shoulder and he says to me, he says, 'Hey, I think you've got a flag there'. And sure enough, one of my traps had gone off. I walked up to the trap and pulled out a nice one, and just as soon as I had finished removing the fish from the hook.. another flag! I walked up to that trap and, I swear it's true, as soon as I finished the next trap went off. And it went on like that until all, five, traps, had gone off! I swear. I went up to him and I told him, ‘You’re Jesus aren't you?’. You know what he did? He just smiled and walked away. I’m telling ya, I met Jesus, and his name is Bob.

Just then, a loud cracking sound interrupted the story. I could feel the ice move ever so slightly under my bucket. There seemed to be a lot more cracks in the ice then when we started. “Ha ha ha, don’t worry. That’s normal. It always freaks people out on their first time ice-fishing. It’s actually a good sign. What you don’t want, is to hear nothing. Hear nothing and feel your legs getting cold and wet. That’s a very bad sign.” our friend reassured us. Just then someone pointed. A flag, we caught something!

“Can I have these for same day service?” I asked the attendant at the laundromat as I handed him a large plastic bag. “Sha, ya can pickke up at ten tomarrah”, came the reply as he took the bag and handed me a piece of paper with something hastily scribbled on it. “Tomorrow? But that’s not the same day, can’t you have them ready tonight?” I protested, “I’ll be at work at ten tomorrow.”. “Fah same day deliverah you hava drop it off befo..” he paused and glanced at a clock on the wall, “..fahv.” he said disinterestedly under a big sign that said “Same day service until 6pm”. “But the sign says 6!” I insisted pointing above his head. “Ya, ba I safah” he mumbled. “Excuse me?” I said, realising that I was going to sleep on a bare mattress tonight. “Dasi sa ix, badda isa e fah”, he said with an air of impatience. “What?? I can’t understand you!” I said, wondering if he was still speaking English. “Fahv. Ya hava drap it offa fahv.” he said angrily. At that point I got the message, took my receipt and left. If it made sense for him to spit in my laundry, I guess he would have. What a jerk.

“I’m the goodwill ambassador for this week”, a middle-aged man wearing an apron told me as he handed me a brown paper bag. “The ambassador??” I said puzzled, starting to recognise the waiter that tended to our table during lunch break earlier in the week. “That’s right, please accept these freshly-baked brownies as a token of our appreciation for your patronage. We hope to be seeing you and party again soon” he said as he cheerily waved goodbye. “Wow, that’s really nice!” I told my colleague who was close enough to see the whole interaction. “Yeah, well. I think it’s kinda creepy.. you know, like they’re trying too hard. I wish they wouldn't do that.” was not the reaction I was expecting.

Still left with a positive feeling, I contrasted this behaviour with that of my good friend at the laundromat the other day. It seems that one can find all sorts of attitudes here. I decided to reward the cafe’s behaviour by going there for lunch the next day. I was tempted to find another laundromat, but that would hardly be necessary as I would be moving to my new place in just a couple of weeks. The most democratic of all our interactions is where we decide to spend our money. It is the way that we vote every day wit our wallets for good service and against bad service. With such a system, provided it is allowed to function freely, those able to satisfy net the rewards and those that don’t fall through in the long run. Thank Bob.

Shortly before dawn Bob went out to them, walking on the lake.
When the disciples saw him walking on the lake, they were terrified.
“It’s a ghost,” they said, and cried out in fear.
But Bob immediately said to them:
“Take courage! It is I. Don’t be afraid.”

As Safe as Pastures

“You’re stupid, why do you throw your money away on food? If you buy a farm, then one day you will have all the food you want”. If that sounds ridiculous, then surely people who insist that paying rent instead of buying a house is throwing your money away are following the same logic. I was contemplating this as my mind wandered from a discussion about my own current rental situation. I was subletting half a friend’s apartment who was, in turn, subletting the whole apartment from some woman I hadn't yet met.

We decided it was time to move and find another place, a better value place with no subletting and a washing machine! We agreed on the criteria and split our efforts, we’ll find a palace in no time. I started looking online and calling up agents as my flatmate informed the main tenant that we’d be out in a month.

“Ah, yes, hello!” the realtor said as I got into his car, “I've got a great place to show you, it’s low season right now so they've just reduced the price. It’s a steal!”. “Ah, very good”, I said suspiciously, “where is it?”. “Oh very close by, just 10 minutes.. it’s a real great building, modern finish and it come with parking.”. “Actually me and my flatmate bike everywhere, so that won’t be needed.. what’s really important is that it fits the criteria I sent you..” I told him as we drove out of the city. “Yes, yes, don’t worry. Even if you don’t drive the parking is great for when your family is in town or something, you know. Where did you say you were from?” he continued, enthusiastically.

“So did you escape the revolution?” I asked as the conversation drifted away from the amazing piece of real estate I was about to be shown. “No, I joined the army, I came here after revolution. Everyone had to join the army, but I was lucky, I was my father’s only son.. so they made exception and I was in capital whole time, completely safe. After that I came to stay with my uncle here, that was 27 years ago. I went back there a few times, real great people, lot’s of fun, they love me there the army guys.. you know, because I didn't split during the war. Those guys are great, lot’s of fun.. some other guys.. sheesh they’re like ayatollah, they want to tell you what to do all the time.. and if you don’t do what they say, you know what they tell you?” He paused for effect. “Do you know what they tell you?” he repeated. “Um, no, what do they tell you?” I said as I wondered how much further we’ll be driving. “They say I am not telling you this, God is. Those guys are nuts. Me, I say, to each his own, believe what you want but leave everyone else in peace we’re here. See? You can park right here.”. “We’re a bit far..” I said as I realised I was wasting my time. “No no no, by bike to your work, 20 minutes tops!” he said, not realising that he didn't even know where I worked. “Is there laundry in the building?” I asked as I took photos of the place to be polite. “Yennh, there’s a laundromat just five minutes from here..” he said without missing a beat.

Several colourful agents and owners later, we were ready to settle for a decent place. The realtor wanted us to take the deal right now, meaning we’d pay double rent for a month. The agents were unwilling to strike a deal as it was “peak season, that place will be gone by tomorrow. We just signed off on four units just like it last week”. (Sigh) back to the drawing board.

“How about here?” my flatmate asked as he turned his screen towards me. Seeing the photos and mentally checking off the requirements in my head I said at last, “Hmm, looks good. Let’s call!”. One game of ping-pong later we hopped on our bikes and headed for a meeting with the realtor. “Left here” my flatmate said, he did all the navigating, me being so new in town and all. “Let’s try this way…” he said as we headed down Hooker street. “Oh. Dead end. Sorry, I don’t know this area too well” he shouted ahead of me as he turned around. It was a charming street with two level houses surrounded by frozen gardens. Two young men were waiting outside the last house in the street. “Where are all the hookers??” I shouted to them as we rode off.

Score. The place was perfect. We sealed the deal quickly and hurried back home to finish all the paperwork. The next day we signed the lease and started looking at furniture online.

“...and it’s gone!” my flatmate told me as entered my apartment that evening. All I could manage was “Huh?” as I looked around the spacious living room. “Yeah, she took all her furniture, even all the pots and pans. We have this one pan. You can eat off the cutting board.. that’s what I did…”. The main tenant had almost completely cleared out her stuff, which included all the furniture and kitchenware. Looks like we’re going furniture shopping sooner than we thought.

Home is where the.. hey, where did it go?

The Far Side

“How do I cross?” I asked a man in an orange hard-hat as I was on my way to work one morning. I was trying to find a better route to work and the one I took this morning led to a bridge that was undergoing some maintenance. Well, that might be an understatement, amid all the orange diversion signs and wire fencing, and being still very new in town, I was having difficulty finding my way on to the bridge.

“Go across the bridge”, came the reply “You can try walking across the river, but I wouldn't recommend it. The ice isn't thick enough… you could swim I suppose, but again…”. What a joker. He should do stand-up. No, really, what is he doing out here in the cold wearing the latest in plastic orange head fashion? This guy is a genius.

As I got on the bridge and pedaled away on the bicycle I just bought from some guy on Craigslist, the early morning sun flashed through the railings on the side of the bridge while birds walked on the shiny ice below. “I think I've made the right choice”, I thought to myself, riding on to work with a smile on my face.

There are a lot of things one has to take care of when one moves somewhere new. One has to think about where one is going to live, how one is going to get around and where one is going to go. One is going to be going to work, of course, and back home from there, but one needs a lot more options than that. One needs more than one, one needs two or three, four or more. One needs a social life.

It usually starts from colleagues, their friends and their friends’ friends. I haven’t many colleagues and even so, I need people in my social life who are not connected with my work. One place to find them is at an expat meetup. In my experience, a collection of misfits and functional alcoholics mixed in with people who, well, people like me. New in town and no-one to meet.

“Just two weeks!?”, “Already biking around town?”, “I’m sorry, you’re from where?”, “Sono di Milano, sei mai stato?”, “I’m reading my PhD in molecular biology”, “Nee, nee, maar ik heb daar gewoond”, “Yes, and taxes there are really low there, the top rate is just 20%”. The conversations repetitively swirled around, where you are from, what you are doing here, how long you have been here, where else you have been, cultural differences, shop talk, politics, religion, sex.

The crowd died down as the beer kept flowing. I started to feel relaxed and friendly, I hadn't had a decent drink since new year’s. Making friends is not something you can force, but in these situations, you have to make an effort. The evening ended without too much success, though I could try this again. I still carry the place I left with me everywhere I go, I must distance myself from it in order to succeed here. As Rushdie put it, “To be reborn, first you have to die”.

Excuse me, how did you get over to that side?
Huh? I was born on this side. How did you get to your side??