Tracey Quotes in Sweat
CYNTHIA: […] let me tell you something, once he started messing with that dope, I don’t recognize the man. I know it’s tough out there, I understand. Yeah, yeah, yeah. He went through hell when his plant locked him out, I understand, but I can’t have it.
STAN: Says he got wind that they were gonna cut back his line at the plant. Couldn’t handle the stress.
CYNTHIA: That rumor’s been flying around for months. Nobody’s going anywhere.
STAN: Okay, you keep telling yourself that, but you saw what happened over at Clemmons Technologies. No one saw that coming. Right? You could wake up tomorrow and all your jobs are in Mexico, whatever, it’s this NAFTA bullshit—
CYNTHIA: Who knows? I might apply.
TRACEY: What?! Get outta here.
CYNTHIA: Why the hell not? I’ve got twenty-four years on the floor.
TRACEY: Well, I got you beat by two. Started in ’74, walked in straight outta high school. First and only job. Management is for them. Not us.
CYNTHIA: More money. More heat. More vacation. Less work. That’s all I need to know.
JASON: […] But seriously, man, why didn’t you tell me?
JASON: Shit, I just kinda thought we’d retire and open a franchise together. We’re a team, you can’t leave!!
CHRIS: Yeah, I can.
JASON: What about me?
CHRIS: What about you?
JASON: You coulda told me.
CHRIS: Dude, it’s just something I gotta do.
TRACEY: […] I know the floor as good as Cynthia. I do. […] I betcha they wanted a minority. I’m not prejudice, but that’s how things are going these days. I got eyes. They get tax breaks or something. […] I’m not prejudice, I say, you are who you are, you know? I’m cool with everyone. But I mean…c’mon…you guys coming over here, you can get a job faster than—
OSCAR: I was born here.
TRACEY: Still…you weren’t born here, Berks.
OSCAR: Yeah, I was.
TRACEY: Yeah? Well, my family’s been here a long time. Since the twenties, okay? They built the house that I live in. They built this town.
TRACEY: […] It was back when if you worked with your hands people respected you for it. It was a gift. But now, there’s nothing on Penn. You go into buildings, the walls are covered over with sheetrock, the wood painted gray, or some ungodly color, and it just makes me sad. It makes me…whatever.
OSCAR: You okay?
TRACEY: Listen, that piece of paper you’re holding is an insult, it don’t mean anything, Olstead’s isn’t for you.
CYNTHIA: […] I don’t deserve the things you’ve been saying. You’ve always been cool. Be angry, but don’t make it about this…(Points to the skin on the back of her hand) Look at me, Tracey. You don’t want to go down that road, we’ve got too much history between us. You got a problem, you tell me to my face.
CYNTHIA: […] You know after everything. I wanna say that…
(Cynthia fights back emotions.)
CHRIS: For what?
CYNTHIA: It’s just, I shoulda…
(Chris places his arms around Cynthia.)
CHRIS: C’mon. C’mon. I don't want this to be a big deal. Tell me about what’s been going on. You hear from the old gang? Tracey?
CYNTHIA: Fuck her. After what went down. We don’t really—
CYNTHIA: I’ve stood on that line, same line since I was nineteen. I’ve taken orders from idiots who were dangerous, or even worse, racist. But I stood on line, patiently waiting for a break. I don’t think you get it, but if I walk away, I’m giving up more than a job, I’m giving up all that time I spent standing on line waiting for one damn opportunity.
TRACEY: You want us to feel sorry for you?
CYNTHIA: …I didn’t expect you to understand, babe. You don’t know what it’s been like to walk in my shoes. I’ve absorbed a lotta shit over the years, but I worked hard to get off that floor. Call me selfish, I don’t care, call me whatever you need to call me, but remember, one of us has to be left standing to fight.
JASON: […] Eleven dollars an hour? No thank you. They’ll work us down to nothing if we let ‘em. “Jacking ain’t for softies!” But they know they can always find somebody willing to get their hands sweaty. And they’re right. There will always be someone who’ll step in, unless we say NO!
STAN: Look. Olstead is a prick. If he was here I wouldn’t stop you. In fact I’d hold him down for you to give him a proper beating, but Oscar…he’s another story.
JASON: […] All I’m saying is that he needs to understand the price of that dinner he’s putting on his table.
STAN (Shouts): What the fuck do you want him to do? Huh? It ain’t his fault. Talk to Olstead, his cronies. Fucking Wall Street. Oscar ain’t getting rich off your misery.