Den tiende klasse

Rejs dig op. Gå hen til din hoveddør. Åben døren og kig ud. Du ser måske en ligegyldig tom opgang. Men der er også noget andet – et vindue til en anden verden, hvor fagbevægelsen sejre er glemt og borte og arbejdernes egentlige markedsværdi er hverken evner eller ekspertise, men deres kroppes nedslidning. Et blik ind i de mørkere afkroge af det danske arbejdsmarked. Prøv at forestille dig, at bruge alle dagens bedste timer her, i trappeopgangen, hvor du ellers hastigt passerer for, at komme derhen hvor du bruger dine. Her, hvor Ryanair-samfundet allerede eksisterer, gælder de samme regler, som de fleste tager for givet på sin arbejdsplads, ikke helt længere.

Noget mindre pænt gemmer sig i det ellers så lighedssymboliserende rødhvide flags folder – men hvorfor gemmer det sig der? Det findes der flere grunde til. For det første så vil vi helst ignorere problemet og bevare glansbilledet af Danmark, som et sted hvor alle er lige. Vi vil selvfølgelig gerne have vores trapper gjort rene og vores fortov fejet, men helst billigt og uden at man skal tage stilling til, at nogle mennesker slider sig ihjel på hver eneste dag, at fjerne skidtet fra flere end 5000 trin. Det er lidt ligesom da København Zoo aflivede giraffen Marius og folk syntes det var det mest forfærdelige der nogensinde var hændt, men samtidig intet problem havde med, at sætte tænderne i nogle af de tusindvis af svin, som hver dag lader livet i det danske landbrug – spar os for detaljerne og giv os vores plastikindpakkede kød og rene trapper.

For det andet så er fagforeningerne simpelten ikke aktive, opsøgende og kampdygtige nok!

For det tredje så skammer folk sig over at være trappevaskere. Der eksisterer en dokumenteret skævhed i den offentlige debat i Danmark. Der er en kraftig slagside overimod akademikerne, som har langt mere taletid end dem med en erhvervsuddannelse. Men hvis førstnævnte udgør den talende klasse og sidstnævnte udgør en mindre talende klasse – så udgør de 130.000 udlændinge som har de dårligste stillinger i Danmark, og de danskere som ligeledes betjener et af de her jobs, den tiende klasse. Vi siger aldrig noget! Enten taler vi ikke sproget og bliver aldrig spurgt, eller også så gør skammen og frustrationen det af med troen på, at vi har noget at sige.

Selv dette blog-projekt (altså meningsdanner.dk/udenfilter) kommer ikke hele vejen rundt om det her problem. For imens tømrere, pædagoger og HK’ere gerne vil slå på tromme for deres berettigede faglige stolthed, så er der ikke mange som vil være kendt som trappevaskeren der er god til at blogge.

Når den tiende klasse tager bladet fra munden, så sker det ikke altid på den foreskrevne måde. Den eneste jeg kender fra Skandinavien, min ven og kollega fra Sverige, som har arbejdet i flere år med trappevask, lavede for et lille år siden følgende statusopdatering på facebook. Det er skrevet på engelsk fra hans smartphone, i en varevogn et sted i København. Tryk- og stavefejl er bevaret for autenicitet:

“That moment when your boss is calling, having received complaints because a customer saw you use a vaccumcleaner and not a broom.

This is how absurd my job is sometimes, it’s more important to this customer to see me perform the service in a slower, less effective and physically more straining manner, than what we can offer in the company, because it’s “the way it was done in the old days”. It’s the same argument i met when we changed from cleaning the floors on our knees with towels to using modern wet-brooms. It’s difficult to find any other reasons for this, than that customers care less of the results and the workers health than the way work gets done in. They want it to look hard, because they pay for it. The performance must be better than the results, since they feel entitled to seeing a certain amount of sweating and suffering for the price they pay.

It’s also noteworthy that when i quit this job, the person that follows me will go back to washing by hand, on her knees, because there is a bigger demand for employment than the demand for decent workingconditions. Tje demand for the job to look hard while being performed, outweighs the possibility to have a person doing it for a longer period of time in a more sustainable way. Being able to look at it as anything else than a momentary thing, a short term job is impossible. This is 2014, in the first world, in a country where they measure to have the highest standard of living on earth.

Now, tell me again 1 may isn’t a day for struggle anymore, tell me we don’t need to fight for our rights anymore, tell me i should be grateful to have a job, tell me I’m spoiled. Go on, tell me.

This wasn’t supposed to be this long, was just supposed to be the first paragraph, but I couldn’t stop. Every day I’m met by people who consider me to be less than them. Either they look away, or speak to me in a loud voice, in exaggerated simplified english, unable to imagine I’m Scandinavian or a native speaker of this language, or they pitty me, telling me that “Wow, I’m doing SUCH a great job” while i perform services that could be provided by trained chimpanzee. In both examples I walk away feeling belittled and angry. In both cases I’m subjected to a degrading treatment. Now, you might think that the second example is done out of good intentions, and that I’m being ungrateful not appreciating this. Then I’d like to know, how does the intention play any part in this at all? How does intention EVER play a part?

Why, oh fucking WHY, should I be grateful that a person better off than me is verbally rewarding me for performing a service that demands absolutely no skill or training, but only desperation to do five days a week, 8-10 hours every day? Why does that persons pity outweigh my want for respect?

You might think I drawing unreasonable conclusions here, that I’m being unfair and unreasonable. Well, I’ve done this job for about 5 years now, tell me again, how long have you been in my profession, walked in my shoes?

And oh yeah, to the those who are about to say “why dont you get another job”, don’t bother, you are to dumb for this discussion, or my friendlist.”