Ghost Protocol: The Invisible People

In the latest installment of the  "Mission Impossible" movies, the president activates "Ghost Protocol," a black ops mission. Ethan Hunt and his team essentially become invisible.


I learned that in my own Mission Impossible to achieve affordable health insurance, I, too, became part of a "Ghost Protocol" -- a contingent of invisible people. Although, in our case, we weren't driving Lamborghinis through glamorous European cities or cracking codes in the Kremlin.


No, my team was made up of fellow Cracker Barrel employees, and I soon discovered that we were part of an even larger group of invisible people -- those in the retail and restaurant service industry. 


Why were we invisible?


Think about it. You walk into a restaurant, and your only thought is the food that you will soon consume. Do you look at the hostess's face? After leaving, if you saw your waitress in the grocery store, would you recognize her enough to say, "Hi, you just waited on me at Cracker Barrel!" 


Invisible people.


These are the people who are making minimum wage and are trying their best to live on it. These are the people who remain unnoticed by the rest of the world, because they are in a servant-hood role. They are taking care of people's needs, and once those needs are met, they are forgotten.


But as much as they are invisible, their personal plights scream for attention.


Luckily for me, the bulk of my income came from my freelance writing gigs. The Cracker Barrel job was solely a means to get into an affordable health insurance plan. But as for the rest of my coworkers? They were usually single moms or those otherwise known as "the working poor." Their paycheck WAS their livelihood. I was socking mine away as a reserve savings account, untouched. But their money was to keep food on the table.


They were the epitome of the Puritanical work ethic, but their efforts remained ... invisible. Their presence was usually looked down on. Their time was not valuable, unless it was spent in service of another person. Many didn't have the education or where-with-all to know when or how their rights were being violated, and if they did have that sense, they didn't have the resources to solve their problems.


I realized when I donned my brown Cracker Barrel apron and khaki pants that when I walked out of the door, I no longer took on my journalist persona. I became, essentially, invisible to the rest of the world. I was in Ghost Protocol mode, and the psychological effect was astounding.


Everywhere I went, if I was dressed in my Cracker Barrel uniform, people did unusual things. They'd bump into me and then would walk on without apologizing. If I happened to duck into a supermarket to pick up a sandwich before work, they'd ask me to help them find something in the store. They'd stare at me as if I should be sweeping a floor. And their expressions were nothing short of contemptuous.


But what was even more interesting was the effect my uniform had on other invisible people. It was almost as if we shared a secret handshake. I'd stop off at a convenience store for gas, and the attendant would immediately morph from an expressionless robot into a lively conversationalist. I'd grab a bottle of soda in the local Kroger, and the cashier would unexpectedly pat my hand and tell me she hoped I didn't have to work too hard. I'd smile, and we'd exchange stories about our workplaces.


I found that the Invisible People were the kindest, warmest, most open group of people I'd encountered in my life.


And yet to the rest of the world, we were nothing more than a caste segment, lower than the rest. 


At the Cracker Barrel, the Invisible People remained invisible to the customers. They were the dishwashers, the cooks, the garbage collectors. They were Hispanic immigrants and recent high school graduates. They were pregnant waitresses and senior citizens trying to earn enough to make ends meet. 


If I learned anything during my Mission Impossible, it was that the Invisible People were not a sucking sponge on the rest of society, as has been portrayed by members of the Tea Party who are against "Obamacare." 


They pay their taxes. They work hard.


Their only fault, their only objectionable characteristic, is that they're poor.


And if I thought that I had a tough time paying for health care, I was in no way prepared for what happened next, with one Invisible Person who I'll call Amy.


Tune in for the next part of Mission Impossible: Health Insurance.