The United Auto Workers struck against Dauch Corp for ten days at a Three Rivers, Michigan plant. Ten full days. Not ten hours. Not ten shifts. Two hundred and forty hours to reach an agreement that could have been hashed out over coffee and a conference table.
Three Rivers has a population of 7,800 people. The entire town just watched its largest employer and its workers play financial chicken for a week and a half. Local businesses got crushed. The diner lost money. The gas station lost money. But sure, everyone stood on principle.
Dauch Corp makes automotive components. Parts that go into other parts that eventually become the thing you overpaid for at 7.9% interest. The strike delayed the production of parts nobody thinks about until they break. Riveting stuff. The kind of supply chain drama that makes retail traders check their Ford holdings at 3am and wonder if this is why their calls expired worthless.
The deal terms weren't disclosed. Of course they weren't. That would require transparency. Much better to let everyone speculate about what ten days of lost wages and lost production actually bought. Maybe it was a 3% raise. Maybe it was better break room coffee. Maybe it was the same deal they could have gotten on day one but everyone needed to prove they could be stubborn.
Somewhere in Three Rivers, a guy who bought $200 worth of GM weeklies is convinced this strike was the reason his portfolio went red. He's wrong. His portfolio went red because he bought $200 worth of GM weeklies. The strike had nothing to do with it. But he'll tell the story at Thanksgiving anyway, explaining how he almost timed the labor dispute perfectly.
Ten days. That's how long it takes to move a needle nobody was watching on a part nobody thinks about in a town nobody's heard of. The market didn't blink. Your portfolio didn't notice. But hey, at least everyone got to feel important for two hundred and forty hours.
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