Hanh glanced up at the long room, the rows of sewing machines.
The black hair of the women hidden by the uniform blue scarves they were required to wear.
The clatter of the needles, the staccato whir of the motors.
Old Tham paced the rows of bowed heads, one eye on the women and the other on the clock.
Beside each worker stood the stack of their completed work.
This week it was Bermuda shorts in festive colors.
Next week it might be khaki trousers or faded denim.
Hanh had never seen anyone wearing any of the clothes she made.
🙁
I often look at the ‘Made in…’ labels in the cheap clothes I buy, and try to imagine the far-away places they came from.
My FriFic tale!
That last sentence is a killer. This is so well-drawn. Excellent.
Pungent account of a shift in a sweat-shop. I like the detail you included.
I wonder sometimes what people who make some of the stuff we buy must think of Americans. Nice story and thought-provoking.
-David
We often ignore the people who are forced to work in such conditions. Double dick move, indeed.
it’s an irony that these workers can’t afford the ones that they make.
An arrow. Straight to the heart. Well done Randy
Nicely done.
May be because Hanh is too busy earning a living. The apparels she is making is probably going to some other market. Nice and realistic story.
Great last line.
I agree with the comments above: your last line packs a punch, which land directly in the eye of Western Nations who greedily gobble up cheap clothes.
That Old Tham too. I would keep my eye on him. I hate to think what befalls those who slack in their work.
Heart-wrenching. The steady pace of it and the matter-of-fact way in which you lay out the scene and the characters really underscore the tragedy of this all too real scenario.