The Worker Next Door

New York city gun shot. Robert went straight down on the floor, and try to look up and see what’s happening. One of his co workers is being held by a guy in a mask. Looks like a M4 carbine in his hand. The women shouted for help, but everyone is screaming and trying to call 911. Robert noticing that his boss office is right next door, so he slowly crawling to the next door next to his office. Looking at his watch, it’s almost 5:00Pm on a Friday night. The man in the mask said: “If anyone in this office

Toaster Treats. Anyways, I worked long and hard. My wrists even started to hurt from all that intense packaging. Meanwhile, a worker from Iced Toaster Treats sneaks in unknowingly into our Control Department. I

of Tater’s Tot Care. “Mommy, I don't wanna go Wahhh! ” Jonas wailed as he was lugged from the extra extra large booster seat. The workers moaned as the door creaked open, unveiling the waddle walk of Jonah. “Hello friends!” exclaimed Jonas, smiling slightly as he heard some children groan. “Have a good day my little crumb cake!” said his mother as she hurried out the door to her job at Le Pepe De Fragrance. “Ok kids, it's snack time, today… is… CHOCOLATE DAY!” “YAY” hooted Jonas above all of his peers

seems of the door have been taped to preventing any air from escaping. A knock at the door startles the room. SOCAIL WORKER stands at the door. CLINT (CONT’D) Hello. SOCIAL WORKER Clint Wilson. I’m Matthew Richards from DSS. I am here to perform a court order home inspection. May I come in? Clint invites him in. The Social Worker steps into the small house and takes a look around. SOCIAL WORKER (CONT’D) Are there any weapons in the home? Clint looks away. CLINT Ugh, No sir. SOCIAL WORKER I need to

short and shaking like an earthquake. Breaking out of her trance and into a slightly more productive one, she moved forward, into the doors, don't hit yourself on the door, into the lobby, don't trip on the carpet, into the elevator, don't get off on the wrong floor, and finally knocking on his door, god she hope this is the right one. The man who opened the door was quite a sight. His skin was far tanner than

The Triangle shirtwaist factory fire on March 25, 1911, was one of the worst tragedies ever back then, causing the death of 146 workers. This company was owned by Max Blank and Isaac Harris. They had a little shop by 1900 and it grew quickly, they moved their business to the ninth floor of the new ten-story Asch building. There were approximately 500 workers, mostly immigrant women, worked at the Triangle shirtwaist company. Bessie Cohen, who survived was inside the building and wrote a short story

argument was that the doors to the stairwells should not be locked during work hours. The owners refuted this, claiming that they were only trying to stop theft. They did not fully trust the workers, and they were trying to prevent vandalism at the same time. The owners used the locked doors to inspect the bags of the workers to ensure no fabrics or other valuable materials were stolen from the workplace. One owner, Max Blanck, according to Cornell University, had no idea that the doors were locked, and

work fast, even if that meant in the hot, overcrowded conditions of garment factories. Conditions were horrid and disaster was inevitable, and disaster did strike in March, 1911. The Triangle Shirtwaist Factory in New York set on fire, killing 146 workers. This is an important event in US history because it helped accomplish the tasks unions and strikes had tried to accomplish years earlier, It improved working conditions in factories nationwide and set new safety laws and regulations so that nothing

throughout the scene. The first of the rooms outside the elevator is a white room that looks like a hallway outside of it. In the hallway is what looks like a gold door, or another elevator that is across from the one in which the scene takes place. The next stop is in front of a completely white room full of people dressed in white clothing, working in a robotic way at their white desks outside of it. The time of day

As I walk across the street lit only by a sign that reads, Perkins Family Restaurant, a faint chatter of people can be heard. Cautiously, I approach the front doors and nudge my way through the crowd of people waiting to be seated. The smell of alcohol hangs in the air as I make my way through. Pausing just outside the crowd, I stop to compose myself. The restaurant is bustling with activity. Every table is filled and many are pushed together in order to accommodate the large, boisterous parties