sister carrie

Chapter 6 (2)

Chapter 3 We have kowtowed to fate: every four yuan five (2)
Carrie was not only envious of women's new and fine dresses, but she also noticed that the pretty ladies who passed her by and ignored her seemed to love the things on display.Carrie did not know how the luckier sisters in the city dressed.In the past, I was not familiar with the temperament and appearance of the female shop assistant.Compared with them, I feel that I am far inferior to others.Most of them were handsome, some were downright beautiful, with a self-assertive air of indifference, and some were better off and a little savage.One glance at these well-dressed people, many of them well-dressed, conveyed to her a harsh assessment of her own situation--her weaknesses in dress, and her ( She knew in her heart that it was attached to her, and people could tell what kind of person she was at a glance.There was a fire of jealousy in her heart.She had a dim idea of ​​what a big city meant--wealth, fashion, comfort--everything a woman wanted, and it was fine clothes and beauty that she longed for.

The manager's office is on the second floor, and she walked there after asking.She noticed that there were other girls who came before her, job-seekers like her, but they had an air of their own, which life in the city had cultivated; sharp.After waiting for about three quarters of an hour, it was her turn to be called in.

"All right," said a lean Jew.He sat by the window at a writing desk with a folding lid. "Have you ever worked elsewhere?"

"No, sir," said Carrie.

"Oh, you didn't," he said, eyeing her sharply.

"No, sir," answered Carrie.

"Well, we want some experienced women before us. I don't think we can employ you."

Carrie stood waiting a moment, wondering if the conversation was over.

"Don't wait!" he exclaimed. "We're busy here, you know."

Carrie hurried to the door.

"Wait a minute," he called her back, "tell me your name and address, we need maids from time to time."

As soon as she got out into the street, she couldn't help crying.Not because of the rejection just now, but the whole humiliating experience of the day.She was tired and restless.She didn't want to go to another department store to find work, so she wandered along the road, mingling with the crowd, feeling somewhat more peaceful and relieved.

Walking thus, turning into Jackson Street, not far from the river, and going south along the pompous avenue, she saw a piece of wrapping paper, written in indelible ink, taped to the gate, which said: caught her attention.It read: "Packing and Sewing Ladies Hire." She hesitated for a moment, then walked in.

The children's hat factory of the Sbergelheim Company occupies the first floor of the facade of the building, with a width of 5 feet and a depth of about 8 feet.It was dimly lit, the darkest part lit by electric lights, and filled with machines and workbenches.Some female workers and a few male workers sat on stools and worked. The female workers looked haggard and greasy.Many female workers rolled up their sleeves to expose their arms, and some of them were too hot to open their necklines.These were the type of almost the lowest class of shopgirls—slovenly, slovenly, gray from lack of sunlight.However, they are not timid, curious, and like to speak foul words.

Carrie looked around, feeling very uncomfortable, and decided that it was not a good place to be here.No one paid her any attention except for throwing a sideways glance, which annoyed her.She waited there until all the people noticed her.Then a word was passed, and then a foreman, in an apron and a short-sleeved shirt with the sleeves rolled up to the shoulders, came up to her.

"You want to see me?" he asked.

"Would you like some help?" said Carrie, who had learned how to speak directly.

"Do you know how to sew a beanie?" he replied.

"I don't understand, sir," she replied.

"Have you had any experience with this?" he asked.

She replied no.

"Well," said the foreman, scratching his ear thoughtfully, "we do need a seamstress. But we need experienced workers. We don't have time to train newbies." "However, we might as well put you in the last process." He decided while thinking about it.

"What's your weekly wage?" asked Carrie.The man's manner was a little kind, and his speech was blunt, which made her a little more emboldened.

"Three and a half dollars," he replied.

"Oh." She almost screamed, but she restrained herself, let her thoughts flash past, and didn't show it.

"We don't really need people," he said vaguely, looking at her like a package, "but you can come on Monday morning." He went on, "I can arrange for you to live."

"Thank you," said Carrie feebly.

"Bring an apron if you come," he went on.

He walked away, leaving her alone by the elevator without even asking her name.

The state of the shop, and the weekly wages charged, were a blow to Carrie's fancy.However, after such a difficult experience, she was finally given a job, which was still a consolation. However, although her hopes were not high, it was not easy for her to take this position.She was used to a better life than this.Her past simple life experience and outdoor life in the countryside made her feel disgusted with such an environment without sunlight.She never had the habit of living a dirty life.Her sister's house is clean.But such a place is dirty and short, and the girls are rough and hard-hearted.She guessed that they must have bad intentions.However, after all, it was someone who provided her with a position.If she could find a spot in a day, Chicago wouldn't be so bad after all.Maybe she can find another better position later.

However, what happened to her afterwards was not satisfactory.She flatly rejected everything she liked or looked up to, with an extremely cold attitude.As for the other places she was looking for, they only needed experienced people.She had several embarrassing rejections, the worst of which was at a factory that made cloaks.She went up to the fourth floor there to inquire.

"No, no," said the foreman.He was a rough, well-built man.He tended the dimly lit workshop. "We don't need anyone. Don't come."

As the afternoon wore on, her hope, her courage, her strength, faded with it.She is already amazingly persistent.She really deserved better rewards for searching so hard.She felt in her fatigue that the big corporations, so indifferent, seemed to grow larger and more hard-hearted.It was as if doors were closed to her everywhere, and she struggled so hard that there was no hope for her at all.Men and women, bustling with each other, hurried past her.She felt the tide of self-interest was rushing; she felt her own helplessness, but she didn't realize that she was really a grass in the tide.She looked vainly for a place to find work, but could not find a door through which she could muster courage.

It was nothing more than a repeat of the same set.She asked once, but was refused in a few words, and she was humiliated once, that's all.Distressed, she turned and walked westward, now making up her mind in the direction of Minnie's, and began the weary retreat which so often happens to job-seekers at dusk.Walking through Fifth Street, heading south towards Van Buren Street, intending to catch a car there, I passed by the door of a large wholesale shoe store. Through the glass window, I saw a middle-aged gentleman sitting in the Next to a small table.The man whose failure is a foregone conclusion always clings to his last hope and always ends up with a troubled, chaotic thought, and it was this that came to her at that moment.She walked through the door resolutely and walked towards the gentleman.As for him, he seemed to be aware of her tired face.

"What's the matter?" he said.

"What can I do?" said Carrie.

"Well, I really don't know," he said kindly. "What kind of work do you want? You're not a typist, are you?"

"Oh, yes," replied Carrie.

"Well, we only employ bookkeepers and typists here. You can go around to the side door and go upstairs and ask. They had a helper a few days ago. Ask Mr. Brown."

She hurried to the side entrance and took the elevator up to the fourth floor.

"Call Mr. Brown, Willie," said the elevator worker to a boy next to him.

Willie went, came back in a moment, and Mr. Brown said, let her sit down first, and he will be here in a moment.

It was part of the warehouse, and one could not see any character in it, and Carrie couldn't figure out what it was for.

"Oh, you were looking for something to do," said Mr. Brown.Before that, he asked her why she came here, "Have you worked in a shoe factory before?"

"No, sir," said Carrie.

"What's your name?" he asked.She told him, "I don't know what to do with you. What do you do for four and a half dollars a week?"

Carrie was so tired after repeated setbacks that she no longer thought her wages were too small.It hadn't occurred to her that he would ask for less than six dollars.Still, she agreed, and so he wrote down her name and address.

She said goodbye to him, refreshed by the job offer.Finally found something.In an instant, hot blood flowed all over her body.Her tense nerves relaxed.She went out into the bustling street and found a new atmosphere.Look, the crowd is walking briskly.She saw clearly that men and women were all smiling.The sound of conversation and laughter reached her ears.The air is light.People were already pouring out of the building, their day's toil was over.She noticed that they were cheerful.The thought of her sister's house, waiting for her to cook, quickened her pace.She hurried on, maybe a little tired, but her feet were no longer tired.How happy Minnie should be! Ah, the long winter in Chicago--the lights, the crowds, the amusements! This is, after all, a gay metropolis.This new shoe store she found was a decent place.The windows are large glass.She might do well there, and the thought of Drouet came back to her--the things he had told her.She felt now that life was better than before, more alive and lively.She happily got into the car, feeling the blood flow well.She kept telling herself that she was going to stay in Chicago.She's going to have a better time than she's ever had—she'll be happy.

(End of this chapter)