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January 28, 2010, 9:52 am Where the Women Wait, an Unwritten Code Is Revised
By EWA KERN-JEDRYCHOWSKA
By EWA KERN-JEDRYCHOWSKA
For years, every morning, the sight has been the same at Marcy and Division Avenues in Williamsburg, Brooklyn: a crowd of women gathered on the Brooklyn-Queens Expressway overpass amid the din of traffic. They are day laborers looking not for construction work, but for work cleaning houses of Hasidic residents.
There were originally maybe 40 or 50. And like many traditions that grow up out of necessity around New York City, this cleaning woman shape-up had certain unwritten codes, accepted patterns that all the women acknowledged, and abided by.
The young Polish students speaking fluent English were usually in front; they tended to be employers’ favorites, and they could translate for the others. Just behind them, spread along the overpass fence, stood Polish women in their 40s and 50s, with some even older. Then, at the end of the line, there would stand a few women from Latin America.
But as the years have gone by, and the economy has been knocked around, change has come to this corner in Brooklyn. Gradually but unmistakably, young immigrants from Peru, Mexico and Ecuador wearing short black jackets and tight jeans have taken the front row. A smaller crowd of older Polish women now stands behind them. And the crowd has more than doubled, with women spilling onto the street on two corners.
Lost jobs in factories, tailor shops, stores and restaurants in other parts of the city have brought the Hispanic women to Williamsburg: a lot of them, like the Polish women, are illegal immigrants and therefore not eligible for unemployment benefits. Being a domestic day laborer is one of their few safe options for making a little money.
At the same time, the economic slowdown has stopped most Polish students from coming to the United States, especially since they can explore other options in Europe now, after many of the European Union countries opened their job markets to Polish citizens.
So it was on a recent morning, the women stood side by side, braced against the cold and gusts of wind hitting the overpass. In parkas and hoods, with bags over their shoulders, the Hispanic women were in front. The Polish women stood in knots to the side, their hair tucked in knit caps, smoking, sharing a free tabloid newspaper, keeping their eyes glued to the curb for work.
No matter what country the women came from, their breath made mist in the air just the same. But the Polish and Hispanic women didn’t talk to each other. And the language barrier may have only been one reason. Even though they are in front, the Hispanic women may be willing to accept less money — $7 or $8 per hour — than the Polish women, who generally charge $10, some members of the crowd said. This has led to tensions; the delicate balance of this urban phenomenon has been altered.
Cars and school buses passed, but the women noticed only those few that stopped. When one white sedan pulled up, it was practically mobbed.
“Two, three years ago, I used to get a job every day within a few minutes of waiting here,” said a woman named Krystyna, 45, who lives nearby in Greenpoint. “Now I get it two, three times a week at best. And I have to wait at least one and a half to two hours.” She did not want her last name used. When she came to the United States with her husband and daughter four years ago, the economy was booming and she had no regrets about leaving a small town in Poland.
The wages of a day laborer were far more than she could get at home. And getting the job was easy. At least it was back then.
“More people started to clean their houses themselves as they try to save money,” Krystyna said. The size of the crowd at the overpass makes her and her companions anxious: they worry that if the gathering grows too large, it may attract too much attention and be shut down. They pointed at a yellow flier in Spanish attached to the fence — to some of the women, it looked like an official announcement. But it was just the language barrier at work again: it was an ad for a computer class.
Some Polish workers complained that by working for less money, the women from Latin America were undermining a market that they worked hard to establish.
At least one potential employer said she got used to the services of the Polish women over the years. “They’ve been coming here forever and they clean fast,” said a Hasidic woman who introduced herself as Ms. Katz, 30. She came to the shape-up pushing a baby carriage: “I have six children. I need help.”
Rebecca Gutierrez, 51, is one of the relative newcomers. She has been looking for work since June, when she was laid off from a food catering business. “I really need to work,” she said, her voice edged with weariness.
Ms. Gutierrez moved to a friend’s apartment in Jackson Heights, Queens, where she does not have to pay rent. She also had to stop sending money to her son back in Peru.
Around 11 a.m., the crowd started to thin down. Most of the Polish women were gone, including Krystyna. Some left with their employers; others decided to call it a day. But Ms. Gutierrez was still waiting. She was one of the oldest women on hand from Latin America. Perhaps that is why, she speculated through a translator, that she rarely gets hired. During a good week, she is able to make $100. Sometimes, however, she does not make anything the entire week.
The word around is that the best days for getting a job are Thursdays and Fridays, as the preparations for Sabbath begin. But it was Wednesday. Ms. Gutierrez quit around noon.
http://cityroom.blogs.nytimes.com/20...rooklyn&st=cse
There were originally maybe 40 or 50. And like many traditions that grow up out of necessity around New York City, this cleaning woman shape-up had certain unwritten codes, accepted patterns that all the women acknowledged, and abided by.
The young Polish students speaking fluent English were usually in front; they tended to be employers’ favorites, and they could translate for the others. Just behind them, spread along the overpass fence, stood Polish women in their 40s and 50s, with some even older. Then, at the end of the line, there would stand a few women from Latin America.
But as the years have gone by, and the economy has been knocked around, change has come to this corner in Brooklyn. Gradually but unmistakably, young immigrants from Peru, Mexico and Ecuador wearing short black jackets and tight jeans have taken the front row. A smaller crowd of older Polish women now stands behind them. And the crowd has more than doubled, with women spilling onto the street on two corners.
Lost jobs in factories, tailor shops, stores and restaurants in other parts of the city have brought the Hispanic women to Williamsburg: a lot of them, like the Polish women, are illegal immigrants and therefore not eligible for unemployment benefits. Being a domestic day laborer is one of their few safe options for making a little money.
At the same time, the economic slowdown has stopped most Polish students from coming to the United States, especially since they can explore other options in Europe now, after many of the European Union countries opened their job markets to Polish citizens.
So it was on a recent morning, the women stood side by side, braced against the cold and gusts of wind hitting the overpass. In parkas and hoods, with bags over their shoulders, the Hispanic women were in front. The Polish women stood in knots to the side, their hair tucked in knit caps, smoking, sharing a free tabloid newspaper, keeping their eyes glued to the curb for work.
No matter what country the women came from, their breath made mist in the air just the same. But the Polish and Hispanic women didn’t talk to each other. And the language barrier may have only been one reason. Even though they are in front, the Hispanic women may be willing to accept less money — $7 or $8 per hour — than the Polish women, who generally charge $10, some members of the crowd said. This has led to tensions; the delicate balance of this urban phenomenon has been altered.
Cars and school buses passed, but the women noticed only those few that stopped. When one white sedan pulled up, it was practically mobbed.
“Two, three years ago, I used to get a job every day within a few minutes of waiting here,” said a woman named Krystyna, 45, who lives nearby in Greenpoint. “Now I get it two, three times a week at best. And I have to wait at least one and a half to two hours.” She did not want her last name used. When she came to the United States with her husband and daughter four years ago, the economy was booming and she had no regrets about leaving a small town in Poland.
The wages of a day laborer were far more than she could get at home. And getting the job was easy. At least it was back then.
“More people started to clean their houses themselves as they try to save money,” Krystyna said. The size of the crowd at the overpass makes her and her companions anxious: they worry that if the gathering grows too large, it may attract too much attention and be shut down. They pointed at a yellow flier in Spanish attached to the fence — to some of the women, it looked like an official announcement. But it was just the language barrier at work again: it was an ad for a computer class.
Some Polish workers complained that by working for less money, the women from Latin America were undermining a market that they worked hard to establish.
At least one potential employer said she got used to the services of the Polish women over the years. “They’ve been coming here forever and they clean fast,” said a Hasidic woman who introduced herself as Ms. Katz, 30. She came to the shape-up pushing a baby carriage: “I have six children. I need help.”
Rebecca Gutierrez, 51, is one of the relative newcomers. She has been looking for work since June, when she was laid off from a food catering business. “I really need to work,” she said, her voice edged with weariness.
Ms. Gutierrez moved to a friend’s apartment in Jackson Heights, Queens, where she does not have to pay rent. She also had to stop sending money to her son back in Peru.
Around 11 a.m., the crowd started to thin down. Most of the Polish women were gone, including Krystyna. Some left with their employers; others decided to call it a day. But Ms. Gutierrez was still waiting. She was one of the oldest women on hand from Latin America. Perhaps that is why, she speculated through a translator, that she rarely gets hired. During a good week, she is able to make $100. Sometimes, however, she does not make anything the entire week.
The word around is that the best days for getting a job are Thursdays and Fridays, as the preparations for Sabbath begin. But it was Wednesday. Ms. Gutierrez quit around noon.
http://cityroom.blogs.nytimes.com/20...rooklyn&st=cse