Personal Narrative Essay: My First Day At The Factory

I jumped when Mom woke me up at 5:15 in the morning. Dad was already on his way because their supervisor increased the quota for the coalmine, so he figured he should start the day early. At the factory, we do not get a break for breakfast, so Mom and I quickly shared a bowl of grits and a warm cup of tea, dressed as warmly as we could, and set out for our mile and a half walk to work in the snow. We arrived at the factory ten minutes before our shift. Punctuality is essential, or else the doors lock and the owner will not pay you for that day. If you are repeatedly tardy, you might as well lose all hope because they fire late employees.
Inside the factory, I went to my station at one of the looms, and Mom went to hers, which is on the other side of the building. We cannot leave our stations, not even to see family members. Our supervisor, Mr. Adams, is notorious for separating families. When I was a lot younger, about thirteen, I was

Another girl who appears to be in her twenties works across from me. She seems nice, but I am often too concerned with the safety hazards and my work for conversation. The last thing I want is an upset supervisor. He will take his anger out on anyone. On my first day in the factory, a young girl, no older than ten, was beaten because she left her workstation. I have seen other workers of all ages receive beatings for coming in drunk, trying to leave early, not working fast enough, and for taking a break. Those incidents scared everyone, so no one speaks except to give directions or ask for clarification. All I hear for fourteen hours is the hum of the machines and the hiss of the steam. Even though I am wearing as little clothing as possible while still being modest, I am burning up. The heat from the steam covers the factory like a wool blanket. I am sweating buckets, yet I keep pushing on, knowing that my family’s survival depends on every second I spin