Pity the fool

I can’t resist a good 80s reference.

Now, when B.A. Baracus said “I pity the fool,” he usually meant he was gonna unleash a great big can of whoop-ass on whichever “fool” messed with his car or kidnapped Face. Not much pity there.

But I really do pity the fool. And by fool, I don’t mean idiot. I mean a person who might not know better.

I keep meeting people who are exposed to toxins through their work and I wonder (a) if they know they are poisoning themselves by handling these toxins and (b) should I tell them?

Tobi Indyke, a talented artist, just guest blogged on Mindful Living NJ today about her experience getting ill from 18 years working with petro-chemicals and paints. I think about how lucky she is she lived through the experience. And wished that someone could have told her sooner what was happening to her body in response to the chemicals she was handling every day.

Yesterday, I got my haircut at the salon I should have left three years ago, but haven’t because I love my stylist. I noticed the swollen, red hands of the regular hair washer and frowned. Imagine how many heads she handles each day? Applying toxic chemicals with her bare hands no less.

There are the workers in the meat and poultry factory getting lung cancer from being in closed rooms with the ammonia they wash the meat with. (Don’t believe me? Watch Food Inc.)

And what about the farmers and the children of farmers handling and working in pesticide-laden fields?

Uch. The worst work hazard I have to deal with every day is carpal tunnel, which is nothing to sneeze at, I know, but in comparison seems wimpy.

Who’s going to rescue these folks from a “crime they did not commit?”

If you have a problem, if no one else can help, and if you can find her, maybe you can hire… The Wellness Bitch.