View source for Warlord Sports Sweatshop Journal

[[AmtLeeks]] has procured this exclusive account from an undercover worker placed inside [[Warlord Sports]]:

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I woke up at 5:30 AM filled with anticipation about this day. What was in store for me today? Would I be qualified to get a job? Would I conk out after five hours? My mind was racing. I had prepared my lunch the night before. Nothing fancy, just rice, fruit. I realize I don't even know what the workers eat for lunch. So I tried to put myself in their shoes. Something simple. I packed my lunch box with rice, chilipaste and added two packets of soy sauce. I dug around for a spoon that would not scream "Nonsweatshop Worker!," "Undercover Journalist! Nail Her!" We got out to South Dallas. Got suited up. It was simply amazing the number of wires running across my body, taped to my skin, the garter belt with the wireless transmitter, the IFB in my ear. I felt ready to explode.

We got out to the location. I went up and rang the doorbell. No answer. I pounded on the door. No answer. I was totally unprepared for that to happen! I started talking to the producer in the truck. Just standing out there. Little did I know (I found out later from being inside) that they were looking out from inside. Watching me. Thinking back on that, that is an eerie feeling. Not knowing you are being watched. I walked away from the door and called the place. The woman (Nancy) was not there. I spoke to Carlos, who told me to come back in an hour. I asked him why no one answered the door. He said, "I don't know." Later, I found out from Nancy that she doesn't open the door to strangers. They peek out to see who is knocking on the door before opening it.

So at 9:30, I go back because we had watched a woman walk up and let herself in with a key. I knock at the door again. No answer. Go back and call. I get Nancy. Tell her that Brennon sent me. She says come knock on the door. She will let me in. I go back and knock. She answers the door. I walk in, and the place is smaller than I expected. Wood beams, swords everywhere. Looks like a makeshift place. I tell her Brennon sent me and that I was here to work. We walk into a small narrow room with two rows of Torqing machines. There are 10 operators sitting behind machines with piles of swords around them. They are all working furiously. I get a stab of uncertainty again. Momentarily, it passes. She clears an area and motions me to sit. I tell her I need to ask a few questions and lead her back to the front area. How much pay? 3 cents for?? 6 cents for something else. Depends. She pays by weapon I establish I will get paid 7 cents for the shorts.  She doesn't care that I don't have papers. She takes me back and shows me what she wants me to do. No problem. I have done it before at Brennon's. Attach the foam, then close one cover up. I am feeling more confident. She shows me one. I sit down and take over. I do one longsword and another. I run out of cores.  I ask her where I can get more. She brings over a stack of cores for me to do. No problem. I start working. But then problems. I have holes where there shouldn't be holes. I shave the tips too much. The tape gets stuck to the roll. I call over to Nancy. Nancy says, "I'll only show you once!" What if I didn't understand it in one explanation? But I didn't want to jeopardize my standing so early. She comes over and checks my work. She rakes me over the coals because I have a hole in the tape. I'm sorry, I say. She says, "Fix It! Fix this one. Fix that one! You cannot have dents. You must sew straight." I'm taken aback. I don't know what to say. I'm embarrassed. I feel everyone is looking at me and smirking. I fix the sword as best as I can. I am thinking, how terrible that someone is actually going to buy one of the swords I made. I would be mad as a consumer to pay $20 or whatever the price, for something that had to be worked over, something that wasn't even straight. It made me feel more aware of what I was doing. People are actually going to pay good money for this. I should do a good job.

At the same time, remembering my task and why I was there. I had to get shots of everything happening. I worked slower than anyone else because I had a bigger task at hand. But every time I stood up, Nancy would look over at me and give me a look as if to say, "You can't handle this! Get back to work! You think you have time to stretch." In fact, everyone was looking at me that way. No one was getting up. As far as I could see, no one was walking around. Finish one, get another, finish that, get another, again and again and again, over and over again. Carlos is in front of me packing swords into boxes. I feel he is staring at me. I sit down guiltily and reach for another sword. I sew one cover and the other. I do my work. A couple of hours go by and I casually take a stroll back to the bathroom. I want to stop and stare at other people. But they look at me like I am a slacker. I have been at the machine nonstop for 2 ½ hrs. But no one has taken a break as far as I can see. They are working, working, working. I don't dare stop. I go to the bathroom. It is the size of a closet with a toilet. No sink. I try to turn on the light. No bulb in the socket. I shut the door and it is pitch black. There is no toilet paper. The toilet itself is clean.

I walk back to my station. Everyone is working furiously. I don't feel like I am doing a good job. I sit back down and work. Finally 1:00 rolls around. I find Nancy and tell her I must get some milk. No one has taken a break. No one is eating or drinking anything. I feel guilty for asking. She tells me at 1:00 I can go. "Oh, it's 1:00. OK, you can go." I get outside. There are three others from my shop also going out. To get lunch? I don't know. I come back 20 minutes later. The majority of the people are still there. Still working. My producer [in the van] tells me to eat my rice. But no one else is eating. I cannot eat when no one else is eating. No one is drinking, no one is eating. I forego my lunch. I work and work. I feel terrible for these people. One more sword equals more money. Just one more. Push myself, push myself. That's an additional 7 cents I can make. 7 cents. If I were to make 1 sword every 2 minutes that would be a $2.10, $2.10 an hour. For an 8 hour day, that would mean $16.80. For a full day's work. $16.80. Not to mention my backaches, my grumbling stomach because I haven't eaten, my parched mouth because I haven't had a sip of water. That someone is so eager to make that sword for you for 7 cents per sword. That 7 cents means something to someone.

5PM rolls around. I have made 53 swords this day. I have worked 8 hrs. How much did I make? I made a $3.71. And I am no means, by far, the slowest of the bunch. I timed myself. I can make a sword  almost as fast as the other workers. Nancy had told me my work load was 150 swords. After working your hands to the bone, making 150 swords, I would make $10.50. Minimum wage that would be a little over 2 hrs. work. But to make 150 swords requires more than 2 hrs. of work..

I left at 5PM. Only Nancy, Carlos, who I think is 2nd in command there, and another man had left. Everyone else was still toiling away. Droning Torqing machines. The sound never stops. I feel so guilty leaving, but I had to. My back was aching. I had double vision. My legs hurt from the constant pressing of the pedals. I had to leave. I walked out and someone locked the door behind me. Every time the door opened and closed, it was locked. Only one entrance. I couldn't even walk out straight with my pregnancy suit, the entrance way was so narrow. What if there was a fire? How would 12 people get out of that place? With a locked door, no fire escape, bars on the windows which were in back of the room.

I waddled down to my meeting point with the van. Where was that damned van? Why was this block so long? My back was aching. My fingers and arms were throbbing.

I waddled back, no crawled back to the van. I was so happy to see that van on the corner. I was thirsty, starving, aching, tired, cranky and just wanted to plop down on a cushioned seat. I immediately opened my lunch. Now 5 hrs. overdue and ate like a starving woman who had not seen food for days. How do they do it? I don't know.

So my first day in retrospect was an eye opener. The 1st words I uttered after entering the van was "Oh my God." I was just so happy. Happy to know that my day was over. But for the others? It was still not over. I will go back tomorrow. I must go back tomorrow. How many swords I can turn around. Think about that I made $3.71 for 8 hrs. of work today.''