I am a researcher and writer living in San Luis Obispo, California. I have a PhD in sociology from the University of Virginia, and I am an affiliate with the University of Sydney Business School, where I previously worked as a postdoctoral researcher.
My interest in telling workers' stories is rooted in the experiences of my own family. As a kid, I loved listening to my parents narrate their motley job histories. I was enthralled by their tales about dodging dogs and birds while delivering mail, making friends while sorting packages overnight at the post office, falling off a roof at a construction site, small acts of resistance at the sewing plant and finding creative ways to stave off boredom while working alone in the drive-thru booth at the bank. They both graduated college later in life, well into my childhood, and I got to witness their pursuit of more enduring "careers." My dad hated the job search process, probably because of the implicit, and sometimes explicit, bias he faced as an Egyptian-born man searching for work in America's Deep South. He eventually settled for an office job in a trucking company, where he stayed for almost two decades. It was far from his dream job, and we all bemoaned his frequent overnight shifts, but the steady paycheck offered a sense of security and ease. My mom became an elementary school teacher, a role that provided her with flexibility, good benefits and joy. Yet, she remained acutely aware of how, because she worked in a feminized profession, her work was undervalued in society. I used my parents' stories, plus countless others I gathered from grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins - all undoubtedly shaped by things like ethnicity, race, gender, sexuality and age - to help me make sense of my own work experience. That experience started, when I was fourteen, with a dishwashing job at the local catfish restaurant, an interesting choice given that I detested the smell (and taste) of fish. By the time I entered grad school to study work, I had held nine different jobs - some hourly, some salaried - and was eager to figure out how the stories I carried fit within a larger narrative. I hope readers see themselves and their loved ones in my writing, and that the prose gives voice to both the pleasure and the pain of work, shows how our individual stories are connected, for better and worse, and provides a sense of coherence that makes it easier to navigate - and maybe even challenge and reorganize - contemporary work arrangements.
My interest in telling workers' stories is rooted in the experiences of my own family. As a kid, I loved listening to my parents narrate their motley job histories. I was enthralled by their tales about dodging dogs and birds while delivering mail, making friends while sorting packages overnight at the post office, falling off a roof at a construction site, small acts of resistance at the sewing plant and finding creative ways to stave off boredom while working alone in the drive-thru booth at the bank. They both graduated college later in life, well into my childhood, and I got to witness their pursuit of more enduring "careers." My dad hated the job search process, probably because of the implicit, and sometimes explicit, bias he faced as an Egyptian-born man searching for work in America's Deep South. He eventually settled for an office job in a trucking company, where he stayed for almost two decades. It was far from his dream job, and we all bemoaned his frequent overnight shifts, but the steady paycheck offered a sense of security and ease. My mom became an elementary school teacher, a role that provided her with flexibility, good benefits and joy. Yet, she remained acutely aware of how, because she worked in a feminized profession, her work was undervalued in society. I used my parents' stories, plus countless others I gathered from grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins - all undoubtedly shaped by things like ethnicity, race, gender, sexuality and age - to help me make sense of my own work experience. That experience started, when I was fourteen, with a dishwashing job at the local catfish restaurant, an interesting choice given that I detested the smell (and taste) of fish. By the time I entered grad school to study work, I had held nine different jobs - some hourly, some salaried - and was eager to figure out how the stories I carried fit within a larger narrative. I hope readers see themselves and their loved ones in my writing, and that the prose gives voice to both the pleasure and the pain of work, shows how our individual stories are connected, for better and worse, and provides a sense of coherence that makes it easier to navigate - and maybe even challenge and reorganize - contemporary work arrangements.