My first real job opportunity felt like a battle against the system – but then something changed for me, says Stuart Lloyd.
‘Same shit, different decade’, was what the badge on my blazer bemoaned the day I was asked to pen this piece. How appropriate, but then again, how untrue. I had worked at Exchange Supplies for ten years and have now been living a different life – several different lives, since I left the fold almost exactly a decade ago.
Exchange Supplies is a social enterprise (their words), meaning (in the government’s words) ‘a business with primarily social objectives whose surpluses are principally reinvested for that purpose in the business or in the community, rather than being driven by the need to maximise profit for shareholders and owners.’ They are also harm reduction innovators extraordinaire (my words).
In practice, what I saw on the ‘coalface’ was top-quality and innovative harm minimisation products and educational information being developed, produced and marketed. Often left-field, sometimes contentious and regularly ahead of the curve of what was legally acceptable – net result, saving lives and reducing the spread of blood-borne viruses.
It’s often difficult to measure community benefit beyond individual stories. Exchange Supplies, however, has an active policy to employ those whose life has been impacted by drink and drugs – which mine most definitely was.
Smart, passionate, hopeless
I was smart, passionate, political – and a hopeless junkie. At the time I still had pipe-dream fantasies (literally) of taking a master’s degree in a drug-related subject. Seeing a job advert for a harm minimisation company pinned to the notice board in my local drug agency seemed ideal.
I was back living with my parents and my dad was all over me to pull my weight and get work, so I was signed on with a job agency. Despite being a long-term dedicated vegan, I had accepted work at a meat packing plant (I’m not squeamish). After being told I would only be expected to haul boxes, within an hour of arrival – due to the omnipresent moral panic of ‘mad cow disease’ – I was removing spinal fluid from back bones and getting sprayed in the face with blood, marrow and nerve fibres. Needless to say, I leapt at the chance of working in an offal-free environment.
On my first day of employment with Exchange Supplies I was in my element. I had scored my necessary morning fix the night before – and incredibly had resisted ‘doing it in’ that evening. For clarification, in 2004 when Exchange Supplies first employed me, I was a heroin addict and burgeoning alcoholic. Just for the record, when I left ten years later, I was still a heroin addict and a full-blown alcoholic.
You’d think I would be a happy and content worker, safe in the embrace of a tolerant, forgiving, and understanding workplace culture. ‘Allowed’ to have scoring and banging up breaks, flexibility over start times (they were fully aware I couldn’t function without gear and it is a universal truth that dealers are always late). Not having to hide the truth of my situation, surely I was in junkie heaven. Of course I wasn’t.
Self cycles
I was a selfish, self-centred and self-justifying drug addict, happy to take the piss at every opportunity, voice my dissatisfaction and sow discord wherever possible. In true drug-addict fashion, I was manipulative and self-seeking. I have deliberately used the word ‘self’ multiple times in this paragraph, just in case you don’t fully appreciate what being an addict is all about. It really is, almost but not entirely, about staving off gear sickness and sourcing your next hit – a relentless and unending self-obsessed cycle.
Being quite intelligent, showing glimpses of charm, and crucially, seldom making errors in my job, I was a picker packer (boxing orders for customers). In this age of Amazon, we all know nothing upsets a customer more than receiving the wrong items. And, of course, I had enough awareness of these qualities to weaponise them whenever and wherever they would serve me best.
So, the game was afoot, junkie vs system, a ‘battle’ Andrew (co-founder and all-round head honcho) has since told me taught him ‘a great deal about managing addicts in the workplace’ – you’re welcome! It was a constant struggle between what could I get away with (not necessarily shirking the work, but having my diverse, demanding and damaged needs met) versus a liberal and understanding business model. It was, however, still a business with procedural needs that had to be met.
Don’t get me wrong, outside of the workplace, I was soooo proud of the company’s ethos and mandate. I lauded the ‘life-saving’ practices and principles we adhered to and sang the praises of those who determined policy. But hey, it’s work and we all ‘hate’ our bosses, don’t we? Picking up petty resentments over decisions that didn’t go my way, feeling my value was under-rewarded, bemoaning ‘they don’t know the job like we do’. I can assure you this is doubled if we also hate the world for dealing us the shitty hand of addiction and the non-stop nonsense that goes with it.
It seemed I was always just good enough, just tenacious enough and just likable enough to keep my job. However, it was very much a battle of will and wits, with me believing these caring and understanding bosses were exploiting my labour. The truth was, I wasn’t fulfilling my potential in life and it hurt. I turned that internal frustration outwards when in reality I had the appropriate job and level of pay for what my capabilities allowed and reliability warranted.
Many days my drunken belligerence was a cause of consternation, and my normal breakfast was a beer (or three) on the train travelling to work. They accommodated this behaviour as best they could but sent me home when necessary – this mostly suited my agenda of more time to drink and use. As caring and understanding employers, full sick pay was the norm – as an addict, I took this as an invite to take days off at will (remember I woke up gear sick every morning).
In an attempt to tackle this, a ratio of eligible sick days per month was implemented. I have since been told our accounts department could accurately anticipate my absenteeism according to this formula. At the time I’m sure I was proud of my ability to manipulate the system, but today I feel embarrassed that I was so predictable.
More than once, I was found asleep on the job (goofing out on heroin a more accurate description). Another time, I stole 200 first class stamps, a clearly sackable offence. Unable to prove it was me, they implemented a procedure to prevent it happening again, another example of their consideration. I’m certain other employers, regardless of the legality, would have terminated my employment on reasonable suspicion. This did lead to an interesting ‘dilemma’ when I approached Andrew to make my amends of whether to return the 2012 price or 2022 cost of stamps – it was a significant amount (I think we settled on 2016 as an acceptable compromise).
On a mission
Am I being unfair on myself? Definitely not. All these things and many more happened but I’m probably being a bit selective in the picture I am painting. There was a camaraderie between warehouse workers, and we half joked about the truth that we spent more time together than we did with our loved ones – shared more and knew more about each other too. There was a team spirit throughout (even if the packers did occasionally bitch, scheme and attempt to gang up on management policy). The training and team building opportunities we were afforded were generous and regular – especially in comparison to other workplaces who might have been desperate or ruthless enough to employ an addict like me. However, at Exchange Supplies, there was the sense of being on a mission.
I wasn’t the only junkie working there and part of the Exchange Supplies ‘mission’ was to highlight unjust and dangerous drug laws and policies. As using addicts we faced the impact of these issues daily. The legality and sub-standard quality of our drugs, the dangers of scoring, the risks associated with consumption and the ‘draconian’ enforcement of prescribing practice and drug agency attendance. We were invested in the practical solutions and educational zeal promoted by the organisation because we knew the real-life implications of underfunding, irrational legislation, and often hypocritical implementation. We may have ‘only’ been packing boxes, but we felt like part of the evangelical solution being offered by Exchange Supplies.
Today, I’m clean and sober, but my desperate and disrespectful behaviour during this period was a necessity of addiction – my grateful ingratitude quite natural for an addict stumbling from withdrawals to ‘fix’, encountering the attendant chaos and creating difficulties along the way. However, it also shaped the person I am today – granting me perspective, tolerance and transferable skills all of which were gently fostered and encouraged by the team and policies of Exchange Supplies.
Stuart Lloyd is several years into recovery and has become a writer