I used to work as one of the cooks in a caramel factory. On Mondays, I’d tend to these huge pots of boiling caramel. When the bubbles burst I’d inevitably have some land on me, and of course we weren’t provided adequate PPE. I still have scars from this job.

I used to work as one of the cooks in a caramel factory. On Mondays, I’d tend to these huge pots of boiling caramel. When the bubbles burst I’d inevitably have some land on me, and of course we weren’t provided adequate PPE. I still have scars from this job. Now, we made a few different flavors, but the worst one of all was mint. The flavour is as bad as it sounds, but making the stuff was even worse. On top of the scalding caramel, we would dump a cup of menthol into the pot. As soon as it hit the caramel, it would vaporize and fill the air. Our skin would turn red, our eyes and lungs would burn. This would fill the factory—there wasn’t a room in the building that was safe. Unsurprisingly, Mondays were the only days that my boss didn’t come in. Donating my wages from those Mondays to the RCP feels like a no-brainer. On top of this, I spend a large amount of my free-time doing party work. But I run into limits like everyone else: school, work, sleep. If I could give one more day, one more hour to building the party that overthrows my boss’s system I would. And that’s exactly what giving one day’s wage means to me.