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You punch in at 8:30 every morning, except you punch in at 7:30 following a business holiday, unless it’s a Monday, then you punch in at 8 o’clock. Punch in late and they dock ya!
Incoming articles get a voucher, outgoing articles provide a voucher. Move any article without a voucher and they dock ya!
Letter size a green voucher, oversize a yellow voucher, parcel size a maroon voucher. Wrong color voucher and they dock ya!
6787049A/6. That is your employee number. It will not be repeated! Without your employee number you cannot get your paycheck.
Inter-office mail is code 37, intra-office mail 37-3, outside mail is 3-37. Code it wrong and they dock ya!
This has been your orientation. Is there anything you do not understand, is there anything you understand only partially? If you have not been fully oriented, you must file a complaint with personnel. File a faulty complaint and they dock ya!

Isn’t it strange? A job I loved a couple of months ago (November 2008) has turned into crap. This isn’t supposed to be a blog about my private life, but some things cannot go unnoticed. Work kills.
Dystopia, one of the best bands to ever grace this beautiful planet infested with rotten humans, puts it well in their super smash hit Socialized Death Sentence. Check out the earlier Dystopia post for even more joy. Happy time!

I am just a fucking slave
bust my ass for minimum wage
Before I’m paid the system comes and takes half away…
for bombs someday
My boss hates my fucking guts
I was never good enough
If I’m injured on the job
he’ll say ‘tough luck’
He’ll find someone else to fuck
My job… My life

Landlord’s pissed, rent is due
Haven’t worked in a few
If I don’t pay I get evicted
I’m fucking screwed
What am I supposed to do?
Each day… I die

Your… Your job sucks
The system fucks
A timeclock head
I’m dead
Employed… Mind void
Destroyed… Can’t avoid

I try… to survive
…losing…
Work, work
Socialized death sentence
System, system
Fucked all around
Work, work
like taking cyanide
System, system
Washing it down…
And I die again tomorrow…
When I wake up

This is Louis Harrell with his retirement award from J.P. Stevens Mill, his employer, shortly before his death 1978. Harrell died at age 62 of byssinosis, or “brown lung,” after years of inhaling dust generated in cotton manufacture. Brown lung – a term coined by Ralph Nader – occurs almost exclusively in cotton processing workers who handle raw cotton.
Byssinosis could have been recognized sooner. Health officials as far back as the 1930s were aware of the dangers of workers’ prolonged exposure to cotton dust. Because it was able to control the outflow of health data, the cotton industry stalled acknowledgment of the disease for 50 years. Finally in 1978 OSHA imposed a protective standard on textile factories. It estimated that 35,000 people had the disease and 100,000 more were at risk.
Today cotton production and byssinosis are largely ended in the US, but both are common in the third world.