Workdays In Hell

Time to share a few more e-mails on workplace music.

Tobin from Indonesia (take that Power Line!) raises a legal issue:

It may be a great service to your readers suffering from "cubicle music hell" to mention that it's actually against broadcasting laws to play commercial radio stations over an office PA. Yes, it's a widespread practice (especially in retail), but the last office I worked in made sure to legally torture their employees by purchasing satellite music from the Muzak service company.

I don't know all the ins and outs of what's legal and what's not - maybe another reader could shed more light on this.

And Henry shares his experience, which is similar to the tale that another reader shared with us back in 2003 after my first post on the subject of malicious music in the workplace:

I sympathize with your correspondent who was tormented, like a damned soul exposed to insipid music forever--or at least what seemed like eternity.

In the 1970s, I was subject to a similar benefit. Our department shared space with another that had control of the background-music tape machine generating this blessing and insisted on cranking up the volume. (I think every fifth playback was "Here Comes Peter Cottontail," so you know this constituted torture, especially when played loudly enough actually to be heard.)

One of my colleagues located the playback unit, removed the cover, lit up a Lucky Strike, puffed up a good, hot fire and touched the tip to a transistor, blowing its little electronic brain. It took six months to effect a repair. Nobody complained about second-hand smoke that day.

The fixed unit was moved to a locked cabinet, but the speaker shared by my cubicle and the one next door was out in the open. My neighbor had wire clippers and height enough to reach into the ceiling by standing on his desk. He cut the speaker's wires, providing silence, but only for a little while. The ceiling surgery had created an electronic imbalance that was traced to our dead speaker all too soon.

The farce finally came to an end when some pious (insert expletive) played a tape of funereal music on Good Friday. "We called it 'the Casket and Sunnyside Top 40," after a trade magazine for funeral directors. Talk about wailing, moaning and gnashing of teeth. There might have been suicides, had not the big boss walked through our area. He was set upon by damn near everybody, bitching loudly and frankly. He listened, said, "Oh, and walked away. I don't know what he did, but we never, ever, heard background music again.