Disposable Employee

By Diane Bennett

‘I will take your bad days with your good days, I will love you unconditionally...’

A gripping, suspenseful book, about how an employer plots the demise of its own employee, when due to the employer’s negligence, the employee can no longer serve their needs in the workplace.
John Bennett, together with his wife Diane, are caught up in the fight for his life, when together they take on three large international corporations for justice.

Disposable Employee is the shocking and sometimes humorous story of how one man’s fight for legal remedy and his failing health, has left him a broken man.

This is a story that will leave readers questioning their worth to their employer.

About the Author

Diane Bennett was born in 1972 and raised by her loving parents, Trevor and Dawn Edwards.

Her life has spanned a career starting out as a secretary and then blossomed into a French chef (she is a member of the South African Chefs Association), to owning and operating two coffee shops and a wedding and conference venue. She studied law and human resources, and then finally settled down as a personal assistant, a writer and a crusader against workplace injustice. Diane met John in 2009 and they married in 2016.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Diane Bennett
• Release date: Sep 7, 2018
• ISBN: 9780463890240

Book preview

Disposable

Employee

Disposable

Employee

One Man’s Journey for Survival and Justice

Based on a True Story

Diane Bennett

Copyright © 2017 Diane Bennett

Published by Diane Bennett Publishing at Smashwords

First edition 2017

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or any information storage or retrieval system without permission from the copyright holder.

The Author has made every effort to trace and acknowledge sources/resources/individuals. In the event that any images/information have been incorrectly attributed or credited, the Author will be pleased to rectify these omissions at the earliest opportunity.

Published by the Author using Reach Publishers’ services,

P O Box 1384, Wandsbeck, South Africa, 3631

Edited by Bronwen Bickerton for Reach Publishers

Cover designed by Reach Publishers

Website: www.reachpublishers.co.za

E-mail: [e-mail]

Contents

Dedication

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Dedication

John, my soul mate without you this story would not

be possible. I love you to infinity and back!

When I look into your eyes

It’s like watching the night sky

Or a beautiful sunrise

Well there’s so much they hold

And just like them old stars

I see that you’ve come so far

To be right where you are

How old is your soul?

I won’t give up on us

Even if the skies get rough

I’m giving you all my love

I’m still looking up

And when you’re needing your space

To do some navigating

I’ll be here patiently waiting

To see what you find

Cause even the stars they burn

Some even fall to the earth

We’ve got a lot to learn

God knows we’re worth it

No, I won’t give up

I don’t wanna be someone who walks away so easily

I’m here to stay and make the difference that I can make

Our differences they do a lot to teach us how

to use the tools and gifts

We got yeah we got a lot at stake

And in the end,

You’re still my friend at least we didn’t tend

For us to work we didn’t break, we didn’t burn

We had to learn, how to bend without the world caving in

I had to learn what I got, and what I’m not

And who I am

I won’t give up on us

God knows I’m tough, he knows

We got a lot to learn

God knows we’re worth it.

~ Jason Mraz ~

Chapter 1

It was another shit day in Africa, so to speak. As the beautiful orange glow of the Johannesburg sunrise blinded me like Luke Skywalker’s sabre stick, I had much to be thankful for in my life, yet unbeknown to me, this would certainly turn out to be one of the worst days I would ever have in Africa.

Born a Pommie (British national) in Salisbury, Rhodesia in 1973, I was deflected from the comforts of my parents’ home, through no choice of my own I might add. So I performed the feat of recreating the ‘Great Trek’ (journal included) through my various travels, parents and sibling in tow, across South Africa. We lived here, we lived there, inland, seaside, garage, car; you name it we did it. Our beloved pets came with us wherever we went; they were after all part of our family.

I love Africa and all it has to offer, but don’t ever acquire a workplace injury (and I use the word ‘acquire’ because it was not something I really wanted to have, it was more something I was forced to take possession of). Yes, I acquired a dreaded workplace injury.

In days gone by, health and safety were words that were not really heard within the corridors or workshops of the working man; then it was labelled common sense. According to the Wikipedia Dictionary, common sense means ‘Good sense and sound judgment in practical matters’. Now there are enough videos on the Internet to confirm that a vast percentage of people worldwide cannot fathom there being any sort of judgment in deliberately trying something stupid that is going to land them up in the emergency department of their local hospital. I, of course reap nothing more than a hearty laugh and sore sides from these types of situations, however, when the shoe is on the other foot, that laughter quickly dissipates.

Now don’t get me wrong, I certainly did not put myself into the situation I found myself in on the fateful day; it was more like the pied piper leading his rats to their death. On a humorous note (which is how we have tried to deal with this whole event), I knew I should have brought that yellow canary from home that day to work, so that I could have taken it with me to detect the poisonous gas that was about to invade my body.

Chapter 2

So it began; the broken telephone call as I like to say. An accident had taken place down in a warehouse at my place of work and a call to arms was required. Little did I know it was going to be a call for my legs to get the hell out of that toxic smoke-filled warehouse as quickly as it was possible. Herein lies the problem with the broken telephone; when one message is relayed to another through a long line of people, the final message received is vastly different from the original message. In this case, vital information regarding the hazardous nature of the accident went MIA (missing in action). In fact, very little information other than that an accident had taken place, was passed on.

My job at the time was that of a contracts manager, supervising a group of staff that was contracted to provide various security-related functions at the client’s premises. These were new premises and the client was in the process of a major clean-up and renovation operation, which involved sorting out massive warehouses that were piled up with junk from the previous owner. Outside, rubble contractors had been hired to remove and clean up the waste that had been left behind. Brazen and cocky, my colleagues and I strolled down the pathway, wind in our hair (much like the Top Gun movie) to the warehouse, armed with nothing, yes that’s right, nothing, not even a first-aid box. This was after all just a small accident that required us just to check in and report on the situation. Appropriately, what we should have been armed with would have made us look like some bio-hazard experimentation team. Undoubtedly my lungs would have seen a brighter future had this been the case.

What, you may ask, would warrant such a perilous outfit? Bromine, pure liquid bromine! I would have rather sucked down a liquid cocaine shooter on fire than have breathed that obnoxious gas into my body and lungs. It also coated my skin.

‘Bromine – the chemical element of atomic number 35, a dark red, fuming toxic liquid with a choking, irritating smell. It is a member of the halogen group.’

How, one may ask, did this orange, choking, hazardous chemical come to be there in that warehouse, left all on its own in a pile of rubble? Pure incompetence and lack of people-taking-responsibility-for-something that, like a human heart, should be cared for from cradle to grave! It is here my story and arduous journey of being inflicted with a workplace injury begins.

Eyes burning, chest and skin on fire, coughing like my lungs were about to burst out of my chest, we ran back out of that warehouse. The pain in my chest and eyes became unbearable. The damage had unfortunately already started to manifest itself within my cavities. It had also managed to coat itself all over my clothes, skin, hair and shoes. Thank heavens for Mother Nature and her abundance of fresh air, but there is no point in having fresh air when you cannot get the freely-available commodity into your body. My chest was tighter than a dog’s arse at the vet; there was nothing going in through my nostrils and down my windpipe into my chest, no matter how hard I tried. Through the haze of it all, in the distance, stood some of the unsuspecting contractors trying to catch their breaths and wipe away the flood of liquid that was pouring from their cavities, clearly in the hope their bodies would eventually run out of fluid and it would stop, even for a few seconds. 

I probably would have done myself a few favours had I laid down on the floor, turned blue and stopped breathing. However, being a man, you don’t do that; it’s not very becoming, as my mother used to say. It took every ounce of my being to concentrate and focus on something so simple as breathing in and out and, at that stage I was slowly starting to panic I might die. My colleagues were not faring so well either; membership to this coughing club was free, just run into the warehouse, have a sniff, get some of it on your clothing and instant membership, no joining fee required.

As we mulled around outside trying to collect our wits, breaths and borrow tissues, management from two organisations strolled down to the scene of the accident to assess the situation and advise the necessary course of action. There was no sense of urgency in their stride and they casually spoke amongst themselves about the unfolding series of events in front of them. It was pointed out to me I did not look very well and, with that affirmation I requested medical attention and was sent to go and see the first-aid officer. I could hardly focus, let alone walk somewhere else. On reaching the first-aid bay, I was advised by a manager on the client’s team that there was nothing he could do for me and that I should get myself to the nearest hospital for medical treatment. I was handed blank paperwork and told to get it completed at the hospital. No further explanation or information was given to me and at this stage I did not query. I was, however, reminded by him that any time off from work that afternoon would result in the client requesting a credit note from my employers for time not on site. Could you be any more callous towards another human being in his or her hour of need? In my mind there were burning questions such as, why have you not called an ambulance along with trained personnel? Where is the fire department, along with their hazmat team? More importantly, where is the labour inspector according to Section 24 of the Occupational Health & Safety Act? A dangerous chemical spill had taken place, this was a serious matter.

As I cast my eyes back to scene of the accident while walking back from the first-aid office, I noticed the office cleaners had arrived with mops and buckets and were being instructed by management to clean up this spill. Uninformed of the dangers that lay ahead in that warehouse, they were instructed to clean up a hazardous chemical spill without the required protective equipment and special chemicals needed to clean up a hazardous spill of this nature.

According to many available sources on the Internet, this is how a chemical spill of this nature should be handled: ‘All spills of bromine will be cleaned by an emergency response team. The immediate area of the bromine spill must be cleared of all non-response personnel. Depending on the concentration of the bromine solution and location of the spill, an evacuation must be considered.

The bromine must be absorbed on polypropylene pads, which will be placed in an appropriate container (5 gallon plastic pails or lined drums), secured and then transported to the waste or water treatment facility or the hazardous-waste yard for treatment or disposal. The remaining bromine residue will be neutralised using a 10%-25% sodium thiosulfate solution. The neutralised residue will be absorbed on pads and placed