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I had a job on a painting crew back from 1989 to mid-1992 that has to at least make the finalists' list on this question. First off, the boss's favorite pastime was to scream at his crew. Not instructively, mind you, just screaming for the sake of screaming. We worked 9 hours a day, 6 days a week, in this environment (always at breakneck pace). No safety training, no safety equipment except inadequate respirators that wore out after about three days of use (and we were working with industrial lacquers, where respiratory protection is a MUST). If we asked for a replacement, we'd be screamed at some more. Meanwhile, the boss sprayed lacquer 8-10 hours a day WITHOUT a respirator, or even a dust-mask. Seriously, I don't think any non-painter can appreciate just how insane that is -- 5 minutes of those fumes and most people are so affected that they can't remember what day it is. Even worse, lacquer fumes cause permanent nervous system damage. Even with a respirator, I didn't escape that damage fully (fortunately, after 7-10 years, the nervous system actually will manage to repair some of it -- I can testify to that, too, thankfully).
But that was just the start of it. Once a week, sometimes twice, we'd do a complete stain-job on whatever 4000 square foot house we were working on. This meant full cabinet package, millwork, everything in the house. The stain was sprayed on (by the foreman) and then wiped down (by the rest of us), and it hung in the air like a mist for the duration of the stain-job. Since it's basically a solution of pigments and mineral spirits, it burned your eyes like hell the whole time. The respirator would only catch about 95% of it, so you were coughing up stain-colored phlegm at the end of the job. You had to bundle up in long-sleeved shirts, wrap your head/hair, tape all breathable joints in your clothing shut, and cover all exposed skin with vaseline, or you'd have to spend an hour wiping your skin down with solvent to get yourself clean again. Oh, and did I mention that we worked at breakneck speed? That meant that the boss kept the windows sealed (no ventilation) and the heat in the house cranked to the max, so that all paint/stain/lacquer would dry as fast as possible. I remember doing one stain job where it was 99 degrees outside, the windows were sealed up, the furnace was cranked to the limit, and there we were inside -- bundled up like it was winter, stain hanging like a fog in the air, eyes burning like hell, hoping not to keel over from heat exhaustion before we finished. The "white stain" jobs were even worse. They took twice as long, and the stain burned your eyes like straight alcohol. Man, were those miserable days.
Whenever OSHA was on-site, however, a runner would go from house-to-house announcing "OSHA's here! OSHA's here!". Suddenly, as if by magic, the boss would decide to run through the house opening all the windows for ventilation. I'm sure that was just coincidence, though ... :eyes:
I also remember the boss physically chasing IUPAT reps off the job site, and haranging us with tales of how Big Bad OSHA wanted to keep us from doing our jobs fast, and how it would put us all out of work if they ever had their way. This went over big with my Limbaugh-fan co-workers. And the same went for the painters' union, too, naturally.
I worked at that hell for two and a half years (I need the money to go to college) until I finally started having physical problems related to the chemicals we were working with. I did some research, discovered just how many safety corners my boss was actually cutting, and then gave the information to his crew before quitting on the spot. He lost half his crew within a month. I am proud of that to this day.
A short time later, I learned that he "flashed out" a bathroom on one of the houses he was working on -- meaning that he concentrated the fumes to a high degree, and something ignited them. I gather that he burned one of his arms pretty good in the process. Anyway, he died about three years ago of a heart attack (in his early 50's). When I heard about his death, my first reaction, honestly, was "how in the hell did he survive even that long?" I'm just glad he didn't manage to take me out with him.
MDN
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