readytorunbook Chapter 372 An Ordinary Worker
Chapter 372 An Ordinary Worker
The weather was getting colder and colder. Polya sighed, but no matter what the weather was like, she still had to go to work. Since the end of the war, Trian had had a lot of work to do—repairing houses and rebuilding infrastructure. But no matter what, these workers were always the ones who suffered the most.
On both sides of the road, workers like her gathered into a yellow stream, flowing across the white snow and black ground—she slipped into the crowd, just like before, but today, there were no tanks in the streets and alleys, no hordes of soldiers, and the gallows that used to stand on the road with dead people hanging were nowhere to be seen. Apart from the ruins and destroyed structures on the buildings, it was no different from before.
For the first time, military control was lifted in Trian. What red flags, what revolution? For ordinary workers like her, whether there was a revolution or not, they still had to work. The hard work, the heavy loads and the demolition hammer, the dangers of heights would not change because of the flags flying on the buildings.
Gathering, taking inventory, or which foreman—in propaganda, foremen and managers easily become the focus of workers' and peasants' propaganda. But in reality, many foremen and managers were just workers themselves. Only those foremen with particularly blood debts would be thrown onto streetlights—and mainly before the revolutionaries seized national power. After Alice took control of De La Leyer, many radical behaviors had already been explicitly prohibited by the revolutionary headquarters of workers, peasants, and soldiers in various places.
Consolidating the achievements of the revolution, carrying out the full socialization of the proletariat and the means of production, and exploring the path of proletarian society became the tasks that the proletariat in power needed to do. As a result, workers like Polya were demobilized from the revolutionary militia and returned to the labor force once again as the "glorious working class".
She sighed. At least since the revolution, the newly issued protective equipment was more comprehensive than before. The various production and construction teams that had been organized were at least entitled to better protective measures and better pay than the engineering teams of the past. As for working hours... at least for now, it was hard to say that there would be any leniency in the tasks assigned by the "All-Alliance Production and Construction Committee." The workers understood that at least their wages had increased, and they didn't have to buy qualified protective equipment such as safety helmets, safety ropes, reflective vests, work gloves, and safety shoes themselves. Moreover, lunch was provided on the construction site, and those working the night shift would also have dinner.
That's enough, Polya thought, at least it would save the family one meal's expenses. She put on her safety equipment—as everyone's daily intake increased year by year, the physical fitness of both the new and old generations improved a lot, and men and women began to appear more often in the workplace.
The dust from the construction site, the tire tracks left by semi-trailer dump trucks, and the sounds of various construction machines... She, like all the other workers, went to the construction site under the foreman's command and used the sledgehammer, shovel, cart, and her bare hands to rebuild.
"Oh, damn it, it's so cold, Polya."
“Yes, yes, Carter, this is the tenth time you’ve complained about this. It’s certainly cold, but at least you have climate subsidies now.”
"Well, what can we do? We're workers. Being a worker is the hardest and most difficult job in the world. We never get the good things, but we get all the hardship."
One of the workers complained, saying that what she said was true, that the work of a worker is indeed hard, and that anyone who said the work of a worker is easy is a complete fool.
Polya opened a bag of cement and poured it into the cement mixer. The building wasn't tall, but the cold wind at this height still made it difficult to free her hands.
"Sigh, I really don't know what sins I committed in my past life to be born a worker in this life."
The worker complained as he shoveled up the sand and gravel.
"Working is the greatest profession in the world! Comrade, you should be proud of it!"
The "little orator" squeezed in, a Labor Guardian Medal adorning his chest, signifying his past participation in a battle as a worker militia member.
"Yes, yes, yes, it's an honor, it's an honor. But no matter how much honor you talk about, it's not as good as making our work a little easier. Alright, little orator, I'm really curious why you don't apply for a better position when you already have a medal, like those splendid red hats, or those neatly dressed white hats pointing and gesturing from below?"
The "little orator" touched the medal on his chest and raised his head: "Because the working class is the greatest, I have sworn to dedicate myself to all mankind as a worker."
The "little orator" spoke with great righteousness, while Polya simply leaned against the pile of cement bags, holding a shovel and watching them. In fact, what they said was hard to refute. Everyone was saying how great workers were, but being a worker was still the hardest and most tiring job. But it was true that workers created this modern world, and people really didn't want to be workers.
The children said they wanted to be soldiers, scientists, teachers, engineers, or any other "glorious profession," but no one said they wanted to be farmers or workers. She understood that workers and farmers had very hard lives.
During this break, she thought that she hadn't been a worker for very long. It was also by chance that she became a construction worker in Trian due to war and revolution, after graduating from the Civil Engineering Department of the American National Union University.
If anyone had glanced at her resume, they certainly wouldn't have placed her merely as an ordinary worker. But she didn't want that. She had so much to think about. After the revolution, she witnessed firsthand how workers, on the one hand, were portrayed as the greatest and most correct class in propaganda, while on the other hand, people privately rejected becoming workers.
She thought about it for a long time, from the main street of Trian to the construction site next to the Hong Kong Coliseum, but she still couldn't figure it out.
She looked up. The gray cement frame was hazy and dull. The workers wore yellow hard hats and reflective vests. The building was already completed. Once the exterior walls were finished and the interior decoration was completed, this "Trian Construction Department" would probably have little to do with the workers anymore. Most of them would probably never set foot in the building they had built brick by brick in their entire lives.
This was precisely what was remarkable; the cement mixer interrupted her thoughts, and she spoke up, cutting off their casual conversation, to get back to work.