A year ago this week, installation artist Christo unveiled The Gates, a massive undertaking that bathed New York's Central Park in thousands of Japanese-inspired structures. The work, on which the artist spent an estimated $21 million, stood for just 16 days, and brought thousands of tourists to the city.

From the way the media fawned over the project's creator (the New York Times called it "the first great public art event of the 21st century"), you would think that Christo put up all 7,503 gates himself. The truth is that a collection of workers constructed the staggering display—for a measly $6.25 an hour. Two of the gate-erecting servants, University of the Arts seniors Chrissy Leggio and Julia Hall, chronicled their strange and ultimately unfulfilling experience in Slaves of Christo, the first installment of NYC-based Booklyn Artists Alliance's ABC (Another Booklyn Chapbook) Series. The idea came from Peter Spagnoulo, a Booklyn rep who is friends with Hall's father.

BADGES OF HONOR: Chrissy Leggio and Julia Hall were issued a nametag and a "gray Christo sack" when they signed on to help install The Gates.

Written in a spare, cheeky journal-entry format, Slaves is full of biting cynicism in the Daria tradition. Painting students Hall and Leggio, who secured the positions by submitting applications to an online cattle call, looked forward to getting involved. Once they started, however, they realized that they were the only workers who didn't think the project held any far-reaching global relevance. "Other people really felt like they were experiencing something," Leggio says. In her first entry, she recounts a conversation with a ceramics major who compared her excitement to what "everyone feels when they go to a gaming convention and stay up for 48 hours" ("I didn't really know what she meant," Leggio writes). A page later, her anticipation turns to dread when she dons her blandly colored poncho uniform (she laments "getting sweaty and looking shitty in my gray Christo sack").

The women were placed on teams responsible for installing the different parts of each gate, including the now-infamous colored shroud (a hue Hall equates to "Home Depot orange"). As the workers toiled in the cold, Christo and wife Jeanne-Claude looked out on their vision—from inside a heated car. "They drove around and waved to everybody, and lined us up shoulder to shoulder to sign our [ponchos], but didn't look at us," says Leggio, who was unimpressed with the couple's surreal brand of grandstanding. "They told us that we were part of something we could tell our grandchildren about years from now," she adds. The authors' eye-rolling continued after they observed the work staff break into applause when Christo strolled by at lunchtime. "People love this goon for some reason," Hall writes of the incident.

The duo's observations of Christo and Jeanne-Claude's bizarre elitist behavior make for some of the book's funniest moments. "It seems as though they have been giant assholes all their lives," writes Hall. At the conclusion of one day, the artists opened up their gift shop, a collection of Christo-themed items that included $25 coffee mugs and $35 posters. (To be fair, proceeds from the souvenirs went to a New York City preservation fund; Christo and Jeanne-Claude are well-known environmentalists.) "They gave the impression that all the memorabilia will be historically relevant," says Hall. "I didn't buy anything."

As the job progressed, Leggio and Hall grew increasingly disenchanted, which led to some particularly snarky behavior. In her final entry, Hall writes that she is "glad I never have to assemble another orange eyesore again." Her friend flipped subtle birds in multiple group photos. Although 12 months have passed, their opinion of "The Gates" remains the same. "I thought the color choice was completely wrong," says Hall. "Christo kept saying it was 'organic' and that it reflected the city, but I really didn't see it." Both women were wary of taking the project too seriously. "It didn't ruin orange for me or anything," Hall adds.

There's still no word if Christo knows about Slaves, but the authors have received some unusual feedback. Leggio explains that Booklyn president Mark Wagner recently received a very strange package. "One of the books was mailed back to them, cut into tiny pieces with illegible handwriting all over it," she says.

Slaves of Christo is available at www.booklyn.org.