Hot Josh and the Labor Day Labor Dispute

Labor Day weekend.

Three glorious days dedicated to recognizing the contributions of American workers.

A national holiday.

A celebration of hard work.

And, most importantly, an opportunity for me to do absolutely none of it.

I had been invited to a backyard cookout.

The invitation said:

FOOD. FRIENDS. FUN.

Three words.

Not one of them was “labor.”

I arrived at 2:03 p.m.

Fashionably late.

Strategically late.

The kind of late that allows other people to finish setting things up.

As I walked through the gate, I saw a beautiful backyard.

Tables.

Chairs.

A swimming pool.

A grill producing enough smoke to attract federal attention.

Everything looked wonderful.

Then the host spotted me.

“Josh! Perfect timing! Can you help bring out a few chairs?”

I stopped.

Chairs?

I looked around.

There were already chairs.

Some were occupied.

Some were empty.

Why were we expanding?

“Help?”

“Yeah, just grab a couple from the garage.”

I looked at my watch.

Then at him.

“Today?”

He laughed.

“Yes, today.”

“Labor Day?”

“Yes.”

“Interesting.”

He stared at me.

I continued.

“You’re asking me to perform labor on Labor Day.”

He nodded.

“That’s generally how parties work.”

“Not according to my interpretation of federal holidays.”

He laughed again.

I wasn’t joking.

Well.

Not entirely.

“Josh, it’s two chairs.”

“That’s how it starts.”

“What?”

“First it’s two chairs. Then somebody needs ice. Then the trash needs taking out. Before you know it, I’m managing operations.”

He pointed toward the garage.

“Two chairs.”

I sighed.

Fine.

I retrieved the chairs.

Both of them.

Without supervision.

Frankly, my performance was exceptional.

I positioned them beside the table.

Then I sat in one.

Immediately.

Before anyone could assign me another task.

Five minutes later, someone approached.

“Hey, can you pass me those napkins?”

I looked at the napkins.

They were approximately eighteen inches from my hand.

“Are you asking me to work?”

She laughed.

“Josh, just hand me the napkins.”

I handed them over.

But I was keeping track.

Two chairs.

One napkin delivery.

My Labor Day had become a shift.

At 3:15, the burgers were ready.

Finally.

Compensation.

I approached the grill.

“One cheeseburger, please.”

The man grilling looked at me.

“Grab a plate.”

I froze.

“Where?”

“On the table.”

I looked.

The plates were six feet away.

Six.

Feet.

I had already carried two chairs and delivered napkins.

Now I was expected to retrieve my own dinnerware?

I approached the host.

“We need to discuss the staffing situation.”

He looked confused.

“What staffing situation?”

“This event.”

“What about it?”

“I’m noticing a troubling trend toward unpaid guest labor.”

He stared.

I continued.

“I’ve moved furniture, distributed supplies, and now I’m being instructed to participate in food-service operations.”

He started laughing.

“You’re getting free food.”

“That’s not compensation. That’s hospitality.”

“Josh…”

“Are breaks provided?”

“You’re literally sitting down.”

“Are tips accepted?”

“From whom?”

“Management.”

He shook his head.

“Go eat your burger.”

I returned to the grill.

Retrieved my plate.

Placed a burger on it.

Added cheese.

Lettuce.

Tomato.

Pickles.

A respectable amount of mustard.

Then I noticed the potato salad.

Excellent.

I added some.

Then baked beans.

Then macaroni and cheese.

Then another burger.

I was building a comprehensive benefits package.

I returned to my chair.

The food was fantastic.

Absolutely fantastic.

For approximately twenty minutes, I forgot all about my labor dispute.

Then someone announced:

“Okay, everybody! We’re going to play volleyball!”

Wonderful.

Recreation.

Finally, the holiday was getting back on track.

I stood.

Walked toward the net.

And discovered that the teams had already been selected.

“Josh, you’re on the left side.”

I looked at the court.

Then at the volleyball.

Then at the people stretching.

“Is this mandatory?”

“No.”

“Excellent.”

“But we need one more player.”

I considered my options.

Volleyball involved movement.

Sweating.

Coordination.

Potential humiliation.

On the other hand, I was extremely competitive.

And somebody had just suggested I wasn’t necessary.

Unacceptable.

“I’m in.”

The game began.

Within four minutes, I had missed two serves.

Within seven, I had collided with a lawn chair.

Within ten, I had accused the other team of violating at least three rules that I had invented.

Then came the final point.

The ball sailed toward me.

I jumped.

Reached.

Connected.

And sent it directly over the net.

It landed untouched.

Victory.

I raised both arms.

“THAT’S HOW IT’S DONE!”

My teammates cheered.

Someone pointed out that we had actually lost 21 to 13.

Irrelevant.

I had won the final point.

That should count for something.

As the afternoon faded into evening, everyone began gathering plates and cleaning tables.

I saw the host carrying a trash bag.

He looked at me.

I looked at him.

We both knew what was coming.

“Josh, can you help clean up?”

There it was.

The final betrayal.

I looked toward the grill.

The food had been excellent.

The company had been wonderful.

The volleyball had been unnecessarily athletic.

And despite my repeated objections, I had actually enjoyed myself.

So I stood.

Grabbed a trash bag.

And started collecting plates.

No argument.

No negotiation.

No request for overtime.

The host noticed.

“Wow. No complaints?”

I shrugged.

“Even management occasionally has to lead by example.”

He laughed.

Then I handed him the full trash bag.

“Of course, I’ll need a letter of recommendation.”

He shook his head.

“You’re unbelievable.”

“That’s what my performance reviews usually say.”

As I headed toward my car, I looked back at the backyard.

The chairs were stacked.

The tables were clean.

The grill was cooling.

Everyone was laughing.

And I realized something.

Labor Day isn’t really about avoiding work.

It’s about appreciating the people who do it.

The people who build things.

Fix things.

Serve people.

Clean up after everyone else.

And make ordinary days possible.

Even when the rest of us are too busy complaining about carrying two chairs.

The lesson?

Hot Josh believes Labor Day should be a day without labor.

But sometimes helping the people around you is worth a little effort.

Especially when they’re feeding you.

Although, for the record, I am still owed compensation for those two chairs.