Could your home office kill you, the BBC ask. Be afraid, is the unwritten assumption, be very afraid.
For example, “a decorator for retailer JC Penney who routinely worked from her home in Oregon successfully appealed a claim she’d made after tripping over her dog and breaking her arm“. One hopes, without delving too deeply into this bullshit, that her claim was that she is a blithering idiot with an inflated sense of entitlement. “Hey, I tripped over my dog in my own home, hence somebody else is to blame“.
A normal person, in a relatively sane world, upon being tripped up and injured by their own stupid dog, would kick the dog. This lady, her sex life in ruins, had herself wheeled direct to the compo-office, being only temporarily delayed to have her busted arm put in plaster. All the better to bang on the compo-officer’s desk with.
But poorly-trained house-pets are the least of the dangers faced by homeworkers, according to the crappy article. They quote Monrae English, a big-shot lady lawyer in far-away California who presumably is still waiting for somebody to come and haul her fat ass out of the Nineteenth Century:
“You just don’t have any control when they’re at home“, she whines almost as if she thinks people should (her emphasis) be put under control while in their own homes.
“They can be smoking.”
Imagine that. Somebody might be smoking in their home office! Whatever shall we do? Has anybody called the police yet? Be advised to shelter in place until the all-clear sounds.
“They can do anything they want“, the nagging continues, as if being able to do anything you want is in some way incompatible with Lady Muck’s shamefully misconceived interpretation of life in a free society.
The BBC seem to think there should be laws against it. If you work from home, they suggest, you should have a smoke-detector, a health-and-safety approved chair, no-smoking signs, emergency exits, an asshole with a clipbboard looking over your shoulder, a canteen, nurse, male and female restrooms, fire-extinguishers, emergency lighting, braille signs on doorways, and security guards (who will ultimately come and clear your desk and march you out). It almost, but not quite, went without saying, of course that at no time should you ever be improperly attired. And sit up straight in your chair.
Otherwise you might die and cost your employer money.
I would like to write more about this authoritarian control-freak nonsense that is so typical of the aging matriarch Auntie Beeb, but I’ll be commuting four hours today, as every day, to go and sit at a smaller, less powerful, slower, tax-deductible corporate-owned computer than the non-tax-deductible personal one I have at home. So please, readers, help me out here. Write to Michelle Goodman at the BBC and tell her to go fuck herself.