Labour

South Canadians Please Note The Correct Spelling

Conrad is being deliberately obscure here, because 1) He can and 2) It's amusing to keep people guessing.

     Now, we try to avoid Politics here on the blog, so you can bet quite safely that it's nothing to do with the British political party.

     Also, we would avoid anything like childbirth as this is something Conrad is glad he's never had to experience at first hand.

     So, that leaves - working.  Art!

     No, nothing to do with labour or working, I was just struck by the moral dilemma I would face under those circumstances: yes, stealing is WRONG but Dog Buns! - FREE BEER!

     ANYWAY across The Pond in South Canada, employers tend to treat their workers as indentured slaves, going so far as to often break the law, safe in the knowledge that lots of people don't know what legal protection they have.

     Enter the State Labour Board, known by various aliases in different states.  It is a federally-funded body devoted to ensure fair pay for workers, and no employer should ever welcome being on their radar.  Art!

     Let us begin the narrative.  Original Poster (on Quora) was a fresh-faced 18 year old hired into a data entry job straight out of school.  Her boss, the owner, was a bit of a bottomhole who claimed every other person who'd done the job prior had messed it up.  He trained her for two days, then checked her input every day for two weeks before leaving for the day.

     No complaints.

     Then, after 3 weeks, she was suddenly called into BOAB's office and fired, because her work was 'unacceptable'.  Utterly stunned, she asked what she'd done wrong, at which BOAB exploded with rage, told her she had 3 minutes to leave or he'd call the police.  Art!

     Fortunately for OP, her dad was wise in the ways of work.  He knew she should have been cut a paycheck before leaving the building with no nonsense about it being posted out to her.

     So she rang BOAB, who said the cheque would be in the post Monday and never to ring him again.

     Guess what?  No cheque the next week.

     At this point OP realised she'd been the victim of a scam.  BOAB would periodically hire young people to do three weeks work, then fire them and never pay them, gambling that their naievety about the world of work and employment law meant they'd just take it.

     Not OP.  She went to the State Labour Board, probably informed about it's existence by her dad.

     

Sounds forbidding, doesn't it?

     They paid BOAB a visit, and told him he needed to pay OP within 3 days, and to call her no later than mid-day Friday to come collect the paycheck by Friday, as he claimed he couldn't do it straightaway.  If he didn't co-operate then 'further action would be taken.'

     Guess what?  No phone call by Friday noon.

     OP then rang the SLB.

     Monday morning the SLB and OHSA (Occupational Health and Safety Administration, they monitor workplaces and can shut them down instantly and impose swingeing fines) both turned up.  The SLB informed BAOB that he would be prosecuted for failing to pay an employee and to expect his day in court, O and by the way the OHSA are fining you.

     BOAB rang OP, frothing with rage, and in between swears, told her that her cheque was in the post - surprise surprise, it turned up.  She cashed it immediately, which turned out to be wise.

     It doesn't end there.

     Three weeks later she drove past her old workplace and it was closed down and boarded up.  BOAB had gone out of business thanks to the prosecution and fines, all for three weeks pay.

     State Labor Boards.  They have teeth.  Big ones!

Lord Peter Wimsey's Crossword

Conrad is unsure he would have gotten this one, as it's a bit punny yet it doesn't require intimate knowledge of Shakespeare, the Classics, the Bible or acronyms.  "Running all around, never setting foot to floor, If there isn't one in this room there may be one next door (6)"

     Give up?  Okay, the answer is FRIEZE.  Art!

An example

     The word itself has quite a history, coming from French via Latin, where it was originally 'Phrygium', that meaning 'From Phrygia' a region famous for gold embroidery.
     Don't fret if you don't like these crossword articles, there's only seven words left to work on.

More Of Munching

It is an internet cliche that people are fascinated by what you had for lunch, or at least you think they are, when in all probability they couldn't care less.  I shall now show you a picture of food.  Art!

     Those are hand-cut chips from some rather blackish Maris Pipers that must have gotten a good bounce-around in transit, I had to peel loads off them.  And I Ninja'd them on the 'thick-cut' setting when they're not that thick, hence a bit overdone.  Still delicious!  The sausages were split in half and then stuffed with a bit of cheese and a lot of Wonder Wifey's delicious salsa, and were Kreplach! delicious.  

     Edna, the lucky lump, got to lick the plate.

     

"The Sea Of Sand"

Our intrepid survivors have discovered both the crated equipment the Doctor wanted and a crate full of Amaretto bottles which was stamped 'Track sections' - obviously someone had been up to mischief.  The Doctor has bad news for Sarah.

Within an hour both crates they sought had been removed from the stack, then hoisted onto the Sahariana, which made heavy going back to their old rendezvous in the wadi.  Tenente Dominione’s face fell the instant he realised Sergente Capriccio wasn’t amongst the returnees.  Roger handed over the metal tag and the Doctor translated.

          ‘Dead?’ queried Sarah minutes later.  She wasn’t sure how she felt, remembering the Segente’s garlic-laden breath and wickedly-sharp knife when he’d taken her prisoner.  Not a gentle or civil man.

          ‘Killed whilst saving my life, and Tam’s,’ added the Doctor.  Sarah immediately felt like an ingrate and blushed to her boots.

          Within an hour of the three returning to their wadi hideout, argument broke out about where to stay.  Eventually the party voted, eight versus two, to return to Mersa Martuba.  The bio-vore sentries were dead, there were immense amounts of supplies at the depot and food in the wadi had nearly been exhausted.  Plus the Doctor needed a suitable environment in which to build his atomic bomb.

          ‘You and I have more basic worries, Sarah,’ he cautioned the young journalist whilst travelling in the back of the incredibly noisy Chevrolet.  ‘I fear the TARDIS materialised in the desert, right in front of a column of attacking bio-vores.’

          Sarah goggled in anxious disbelief.

          ‘What!  How do you know!’

      A right bit of sherlocking there, Conan Doyle would be proud of you.

Finally -

Right, now for a comfort-break and then it'll be off to take Edna for a trot, I need to get my step-count up, which isn't going to happen sitting here on my hairy white hindquarters tapping away on a keyboard.  Sorry if that paints a picture that you can't unsee, just think of it as - er - background info.