#top rated employment lawyers near me

[lawfirm-elixir]

Elixir Legal Services is one of the best employment lawyers for employees in Mumbai. We partner with our clients to meet the challenges posed by the modern Indian workplace. We find solutions and manage risk in employment, incentives, pension, legal challenges, and objectives.

[macklawoffices88]

Top Criminal Defense Lawyers in Pennsylvania: Find Legal Help from The Top Rated Lawyers Near Me

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Conclusion

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[sociomi]

SAV Paralegal Services - Best Professional Paralegal Services Provider

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Their patience and strategic planning are to support litigants through the small claims process. These paralegal Toronto can help you draft your claim, defense, or motion in the right way. At their end the role is to structure your pleading precisely, replying to the defense in a clear and precise language that is understandable for the Judge.

Finding Paralegal near me seems challenging in the first place as to whom to trust to represent your point most accurately is the question. The fact that Small Claims Courts in Toronto are burdened with a large volume of cases and claims and so to ensure that your case gets proper discourse, taking professional legal representation is quite necessary. Hence, SAV provides their Paralegal solutions for wrongful dismissal, severance package review, termination pay audit, and constructive dismissal at much more reasonable rates with no compromise on attention and detailing.

The standard of legal help of these Paralegal Toronto is no less than that of top employment lawyers. To get legal help from these book a free consultation call with SAV Paralegal Services at https://www.savlitigation.law.

[kumeko]

Prompt: Geralt/Yennefer & Ciri family fluff

A/N: For @caiabresebun, for @thewitchersecretsanta. Ok. Um. I was going for family fluff, and my sister was watching a lot of Hallmark movies, and thus this monstrous thing came to be with a bit less family fluff than I was planning. I’M SORRY. (I am hoping to add to this later, but uh...)

…

…

…

…

There was something relaxing about the gym. Standing in the center of the boxing ring, his gloves strapped tightly to his fists, Geralt closed his eyes and took a deep breath. The whole place had a musty, stagnant smell, the kind of scent that came from being a third-rate gym with third-rate equipment. Places like this were a dime a dozen in the city, entrances tucked away in alleys and after a flight of stairs.

 It was a miracle, honestly, that the place hadn’t closed down yet. It was a pretty small place, barely able to fit in a dozen or two at a time. There was a better Goodlife center around the corner, with proper instructors and amenities. If he was being charitable, he knew he wasn’t the best trainer—he could be hard where others were soft, firm where others bent.

 If it weren’t for the cheap rates, they’d have been in the red years ago. As it was, Geralt didn’t want to question their finances too much. After all, it was only the goodwill of the owner that let him rent the apartment right above the gym. In a city as expensive as New York, he doubted he’d anywhere else as affordable. Especially considering his…uneven employment.

 “Geralt!” A girl called out as she pulled open the door, a bell ringing a few seconds after to belatedly announce her arrival. “I’m home!”

And even if he could find a place to stay, he doubted he’d find one big enough to fit him and his adopted daughter. Geralt opened his eyes, looking over his shoulder as Ciri walked in the room. At thirteen, she was gangly and awkward, all long limbs and flyaway hair. He had maybe a year or two before she grew into her body, and then just mere months before her mind finally caught up and he’d have to deal with whatever teenage tantrums she tossed his way.

 “Good,” Geralt grunted, watching as she plopped her backpack on one of the benches. “You’re late.”

 “Not really!” Ciri protested, pointing at the clock. “It’s only 4:15.”

 “And you normally come back at 4.” Geralt glared at the door, waiting for her irritating babysitter to walk in. When the door remained stubbornly closed, he barked, “Jaskier.”

 “Yeah! Sorry about that.” Jaskier poked his head in through the door and smiled sheepishly. As usual, his brown hair looked like a mouse’s nest, he reeked of cheap perfume, and his clothes looked like he couldn’t decide if he wanted to be punk or rock. Which, to be fair, was exactly how his band sounded like—a confused mishmash of two different sounds.

 For some reason, the ladies loved it.

 Geralt sometimes feared for the future. “What happened?” he asked, already knowing he wasn’t going to like the answer.

 “Nothing, nothing!” Jaskier waved the question away with a goofy smile, chuckling in the way he did when he was hiding something. “Just got some ice-cream—”

 “It’s December,” Geralt pointed out flatly.

 “—and took the long way home.” Jaskier winked at Ciri. “Just a little mutual complaining, right?”

 Ciri stared at him for a long minute, then turned to Geralt. “Who’s Yennefer?”

 Geralt stiffened. He hadn’t heard that name in years. He hadn’t expected to hear that name ever again. Immediately, he glared at Jaskier. “You.”

 Jaskier wilted. “You weren’t supposed to ask!” he hissed.

 Ciri snorted, already sounding like a teenager. Sarcasm dripped from her voice as she asked, “Oh, I should just let him stay grumpy forever?”

 “Grumpy?” Geralt clenched his jaw. Part of him wanted to know just what Jaskier said. Another, bigger part of him knew it was his usual brand of nonsense, a mixture of lies, rumours, and a tiny drop of truth. Whatever it was, it was better not to know. Actually, that was almost always the solution when it came to Jaskier.

 “I didn’t say you were grumpy,” Jaskier refuted quickly, scratching his cheek. “More like—”

 “Heartbroken?” Ciri guessed, a sly glint in her eyes and maybe Geralt should start preparing himself now for her teenage years.

 “Yes—no!” Jaskier’s jaw dropped. “Ciri, are you trying to get me killed?”

 “I’m not heartbroken,” Geralt stated, moving past Jaskier’s betrayal for now.

 “He said it’s why you’re grumpy all the time,” Ciri challenged, ignoring Jaskier’s yelps and cries as she revealed their entire conversation. “You miss her.”

 “I don’t miss her.” Geralt smiled wryly at the thought. How could he miss someone who was never there? “It was years ago, Ciri.”

 “It’s been years since my…” Ciri trailed off, her skin paling.

 She didn’t have to finish; he knew what she was about to say.  Crossing the boxing ring, he leaned against the ropes and smiled gently at her. He was never certain of what exactly possessed her grandmother to leave her in his care—knowing the woman, she probably hadn’t wanted to either—but he was glad she did.

 He couldn’t say just how much his life had changed now that Ciri was in it, only that it was for the better. “That’s a different thing,” he replied softly. “Your grandparents loved you very much.”

 She smiled back hesitantly. It had taken her a while to get comfortable enough to talk about her grandparents. They had been practically her parents, raising her since birth. “Yeah.” For a moment, he thought that was the end of that, but she pressed, “And Yennefer?”

 Geralt sighed, running a hand through his hair. Now that it was out, he might as well get it over with. “It was a short thing, just before you came. She wasn’t interested in anything more.”

 Ciri frowned. “That’s it?”

 “That’s it,” he confirmed, shrugging. What else could he tell a child? The connection he’d felt with Yennefer had all been in his head; she’d made it clear enough when she left.

 “Oh.” She sounded disappointed as she picked up her backpack. “I’ll finish my homework.”

 He knew she really meant she wanted to process it all, and he waved her off. “Sure.”

 “And I’ll make my way out—” Jaskier added casually, slinking his way to the door.

 “Jaskier. Ring. Now,” Geralt ordered, his teeth bared as he glared at him.

 -x-

 Yennefer was never certain of what exactly possessed her to join her current company. Well, no, she knew exactly why—her ‘mother’ Trisha worked for their rivals and that was more than a good enough reason to join. Perhaps that was petty, but then again, Yennefer never claimed to be otherwise.

 Pettiness was sometimes the only way you dealt with a woman like Trisha. It was almost impossible to get under her skin. Even all of her years in law school, backstabbing and clawing to the top of her class hadn’t taught Yennefer the right way to twist the knife in her mother’s heart.

 For now, she’d have to make do as the corporate lawyer for a rival business, filing lawsuit after lawsuit and fighting her mother in court.

 “Hey, Yennefer!” Her fellow lawyer, Triss, smiled brightly at her, waving as she entered the hotel lobby. “You’re here early.”

 “Or you’re here late,” she muttered, rolling her eyes. This was precisely what she hated about her workplace. Tech companies as a whole reeked of that sugary ‘we’re all in this together’ attitude, no doubt fostered by their shareholders to trick employees into working free overtime. And the fools ate it up, staying in their offices well past closing because of paltry things like buffet bars and gaming rooms.

 The near-sighted idiots had no idea how much they were being used. It was bad enough the peons were cheerful morons; she didn’t need her fellow lawyers buying into it too.

 Either feigning ignorance or in need of some hearing aids, Triss breezed past her comment like it hadn’t happened. “I didn’t take you for the holiday type.”

 “I’m not,” Yennefer replied flatly. “What gave it away, my black outfit or my black makeup?”

 “Well, that’s true. It’s not very Christmas-y. Or Holiday-y.” She smiled brightly, as though that had been an actual question and not a sarcastic quip. Now Yennefer was certain Triss was faking it. “Or—actually, what do you celebrate?”

 “Nothing.” Yennefer glanced at the champagne in her hands. The second she’d entered the hotel’s ballroom for her company’s ‘Holiday’ party (and oh, they like to say it was ‘Holiday’, even though all of the decorations were so obviously ‘Christmas’. And yet, just like everything else, the fools just ate it all up.), Yennefer had grabbed a glass from a passing waiter. And then another.

 She actually wasn’t certain how many she’d drank so far, but clearly it wasn’t enough if she was still conscious for this conversation.

 “Seems like you celebrate Halloween,” Trisha replied smartly, the closest she’d come to baring her claws so far.

 “And you are a suck up,” Yennefer retorted, already tired of the conversation. “What do you want?”

 “Nothing.” Triss’s smile dropped a notch. Around them, various employees drifted about as they chatted, everyone from the top CEOs to the lower management mingling. “Just wanted to see how you’re doing. Make some small talk.”

 “We see each other every day.” Yennefer glanced around for another waiter. Her drink was almost empty, and she needed another.

 “And you don’t talk about yourself then.” Triss sighed, shaking her head. “Don’t know why I thought it’d be different now.”

 “Me neither.” With a careless wave, Yennefer pivoted and headed to another waiter. Triss sputtered something unintelligible and she hoped it was a curse. It’d make her far more interesting and out of all of the lawyers in her company, she was by far the most attractive.

 A little fire would actually make it interesting to have a fling with her.

 Plucking two glasses from the waiter, Yennefer looked over the rim as she drank, taking in the other employees. It was a small miracle Isetradd had left the company before their holiday party; despite everything that had happened between them, he’d probably make a pass. Depending on how drunk she got, she’d probably say yes. If there was one useful thing about the time of the year, it was that it made it all the easier for her to find some mindless entertainment, to slip in and out of beds without anyone caring.

 Caring.

 For a moment, she thought of a certain silver-haired man and she bit her lip. It had been years. More than that, it had been another petty attack on her mother—sleeping with Tissaia’s temporary bodyguard, was a scandal in the making. Even if only to Tissaia’s eyes.

 She hadn’t expected him to get attached.

 She hadn’t expected herself to be tempted.

 Shaking herself out her thoughts, Yennefer gulped her remaining champagne and headed to the open bar. It had been years; she didn’t understand why he lingered in her thoughts, but this sentimental feeling was a hindrance.

 “Whisky,” she ordered, slipping onto one of the bar stools. “On the rocks.”

 Yennefer was not nearly drunk enough to deal with this tonight.

 -x-

 Geralt could not for the life of him explain exactly how he’d ended up walking through downtown New York with Jaskier in the evening. It was mid-December. It was really cold. It was a weekday.

 “Why am I here?” he asked aloud, glaring at his shorter companion.

 Jaskier grinned, patting him on the back. “Look, I brought up some painful memories, right? Well, what better way to fix that than by helping you make some new, better ones?”

 “That’s a stupid reason.” Geralt turned around. Ciri was definitely not doing her homework right now, probably ordering takeout, and most likely needed his watchful eye.

 “Wait, wait, wait, it’s not!” Jaskier quickly jumped in front of him, pressing his hands on his chest in an extremely futile attempt to get him to stop. They both knew exactly how much Geralt outclassed him in strength, just like they both knew the only reason Geralt had stopped was because he wanted to. “It’s a really good reason.”

 “How?” Geralt knew he’d regret asking this, just like he regretted asking Jaskier anything, really. Somehow, the guy had a silver tongue and a penchant for getting what he wanted, and either Geralt lost time listening to him or ended up agreeing to something he definitely didn’t want.

 Jaskier’s smile grew wider as he gently turned Geralt around and continued to steer him down the street. “Look, you’re still hung up on her—don’t lie to me. I told you she was bad news, you didn’t listen, and this is where it got you. Even Ciri’s worried. You don’t want her to worry, right? You want to show her you’re fine, right?”

 “…is she really that worried?” Geralt muttered, unable to refute it. He wasn’t ‘hung up’ on Yennefer, but he couldn’t deny that he still felt bound to her somehow.

 Jaskier perked up and nodded quickly. “I mean, she wants you to be happy, and you’re kinda mopey and grumpy,” Geralt glared and he hastily amended, “not that it’s a bad thing, we love that part of your, but…you know…it’d be good to know that’s just because you’re you, and not because of some bi—”

 “Where are we going?” Geralt asked, interrupting before Jaskier could go on yet another rant.

 “Every club.” Jaskier gestured at the brightly lit street ahead of them.

 “Every club?” Geralt repeated slowly, not liking the sound of it.

 “Every single one. You’re going home drunk, with someone, or hopefully a combo of the two.” Jaskier pumped his fist, looking determined for once in his life. Why that energy never transferred to his actual work, Geralt never knew.

 “I’m going home tired,” he grumbled, but followed anyway.

 As usual, Jaskier knew every party in town. He had always been the more social one between them, with all the good and bad it came with. For every three people he flirted with, a fourth and fifth were ready to pummel him to death. Deservedly so, Geralt was certain, but if they wanted to kill Jaskier, they’d have to do it out of his sight at least. He needed plausible deniability for when Ciri asked.

 And as expected, Geralt felt very tired by the time they’d hit the fifth one. The parties were as different as can be, from well-dressed elites sipping cocktails to raves better suited for university students, but either way, mostly filled with boring, annoying people that he would rather never see again. Every time Jaskier sensed his patience had hit its limit, he’d drag Geralt off to the next party.

 “How are there so many parties?” Geralt muttered as they entered some ostentatious hotel. The décor was meant to replicate grandeur but felt over-the-top and tacky to him.

 “Christmas!” Jaskier explained, still as cheerful as though it were their first party, and not the nth one. “Every company’s cramming them in this week which is perfect for gate crashers like us.”

 Geralt raised a brow. “Don’t they have security or id?”

 Jaskier shrugged as he led him into the ballroom. “Probably. Now, come on. We’ve been at it all night, and you’re barely buzzed.”

 “You keep dragging us out before I can drink,” Geralt pointed out.

 “No worries here—open bar.” Jaskier grinned, all teeth. “Perfect place to drown your sorrows.”

 “I don’t have any,” he retorted immediately.

 Jaskier shrugged it off. “Sure, sure. You go drink in joy then, and I’m going to take a look at who’s here. See you in ten!”

 Without waiting for a response, he firmly pushed Geralt toward the back and then disappeared. Geralt clicked his teeth but made his way forward. As usual, people stopped and stared at him, though they tried to do it as politely as possible. With his heavy build and long white hair, he knew he was an unusual sight for many.

 “Oh? Look who it is.”

 But not for all. He froze at the familiar sultry voice. Seated at the bar, sipping whisky, was Yennefer. As usual, she looked stunning, her black cocktail dress clinging to her like a second skin. The light flush on her neck and cheeks gave away how drunk she was, though her eyes were as intelligent as ever.

 “Yennefer,” he muttered, reluctantly approaching her. It was only now, only here, that he could privately admit what Jaskier and Ciri had said:

 He was hung up on her.

 He had always been too slow, too simple for the city, and so when he’d gotten caught up in the whirlwind that was Yennefer, he hadn’t realized that what was true for him hadn’t been true for her. That his feelings were only one-sided.

 That to her it was just a game.

 Even this meeting was just another game.

 Yennefer patted the seat next to her. “You should sit.”

 It was like nothing had happened. Steeling himself, he shook his head and stood. “I’ll have a Moscow Mule.”

 The bartender nodded, already pulling out a glass.

 Yennefer wrinkled her nose. “Vodka. Again. You never change, do you?”

 “I try not to,” he muttered, unable to stop himself. She’d always been good at drawing him into a conversation.

 “Still at the…” Yennefer paused, her nose scrunching as she tried to think of the word. “handy-man things?”

 She was definitely drunk. He tried not to care. “Yes.”

 “One-word answers—I told you to fix that.” Yennefer took another sip of her drink. Lifting the glass, she admired the light filtering through the dark brown liquid. “You haven’t learned to talk—business isn’t going to expand that way, you know.”

 “It doesn’t need to.” Geralt shrugged as he got his glass. The ice clinked as he drank. “I’m good.”

 Yennefer snorted. “You mean barely making it.”

 “Everyone’s barely making it, compared to you,” he growled. She always had a way of getting under his skin. “There are other things.”

 “And what do you know of those ‘other’ things?” Yennefer laughed, her red lips curving into a contemptuous smirk. “You’ve hidden in your shell for years.”

 She wasn’t wrong. He’d lived that way for years. Geralt stared at his reflection in his drink. “Not anymore.”

 She raised a perfectly trimmed eyebrow. “So you have changed.”

 “Yeah. And you haven’t.” He was already tired of the conversation. Picking up his glass, he turned to go when a delicate hand wrapped around his tie. He stared at her perfectly manicured nails before she yanked hard, bringing his lips tantalizingly close to hers. “Yennefer,” he breathed, unable to pull back.

 “Why are you still so goddamn attractive?” Yennefer mused. This close, he could smell the alcohol on her breath, and below it the faint scent of her flowery perfume.

 “I…”

 “It’s unfair,” she murmured, so close now her lips brushed his as she spoke. Suddenly, she slumped on his chest and Geralt froze.

 “Huh?” Panicked, he grabbed her shoulders, lifting her head. Her slow breathing, slightly parted lips, and closed eyes explained everything: she was fast asleep.

 “Had a feeling,” sighed the bartender. “She’d drank too much.”

 Geralt looked at him, panicked. “Where should I put her?”

 He shrugged. “You could ask for a room here, if there’s any still available. Either way, when the party’s over, she has to go.”

 Her shoulders were still too small and fragile, and he held her carefully as he quickly scanned the room. If anyone else here knew or cared about her, they didn’t act like it. Almost no one looked at him, too focused on their conversations.

 “Still no friends,” he muttered. “And I’m the one avoiding people?”

 -x-

 Yennefer woke to a pounding head and a parched mouth. Maybe she shouldn’t have gotten so hammered last night; it was a company party, after all. She had to keep some decorum.

 Yennefer frowned. Company party. Drinking.

 Just when had she gotten home? How? Actually, now that she thought about it, her bed felt oddly hard and the smell…

 Husky, a bit wild, and—

 She knew that smell.

 Yennefer opened her eyes, staring at the vaguely familiar ceiling. It had been years since she’d slept here and suddenly last night came rushing to her. Geralt had been at the bar. Geralt of all people. Quickly, she patted herself, checking that her clothes were still on. Even though she’d made the stupid mistake of going home with him, she certainly hadn’t made the stupider mistake of sleeping with him.

 There was enough complication in her life without adding him back to the mix. Sitting up, she rubbed her head. As usual, the big lug had deposited her on his bed, no doubt sleeping on the couch or something instead.

 “You’re awake!” Yennefer snapped her head to the door, where a young blonde girl eyed her curiously. The girl bounced on her feet slightly. “You’re Yennefer, right?”

 She raised a brow. This was Geralt’s place, right? “And you’re?”

 “Ciri.” The girl grinned before spinning around. “Geralt! She’s awake!”

 Yennefer groaned and lay back down. Either he was married, widowed, or adopting rugrats all over the place. Either way, she wasn’t ready for any of this. Maybe if she closed her eyes, she could pretend nothing happened.

 Yeah.  That’s what she’d do.

 “Yennefer?”

 She grumpily opened her eyes and saw him at the door.

 Well, at least she’d gotten one thing right yesterday. Damn, he’d aged well.

[lawfirm-elixir]

[foreverlogical]

The election season of 2015 and 2016 was defined by chaos, infighting and a pool of deep resentment that came boiling over when votes were cast. But this election was barely noticed. It happened on February 17, 2016, in a rundown labor union hall in Portland, Oregon. Union members were voting on a new contract with their employer, Koch Industries. The union members felt powerless, cornered, and betrayed by their own leaders. The things that enraged them were probably recognizable to anyone who earns a paycheck in America today. Their jobs making wood and paper products for a division called Georgia Pacific had become downright dangerous, with spikes in injuries and even deaths. They were being paid less, after adjusting for inflation, than they were paid in the 1980s. Maybe most enraging, they had no leverage to bargain for a better deal. Steve Hammond, one of the labor union’s top negotiators, had fought for years to get higher pay and better working conditions. And for years, he was outgunned and beaten down by Koch’s negotiators. So even as the presidential election was dominating public attention in late 2015, Hammond was presenting the union members with a dispiriting contract defined by surrender on virtually everything the union had been fighting for. He knew the union members were furious with his efforts. When he stood on stage to present the contract terms, he lost control and berated them. “This is it guys!” his colleagues recall him yelling. “This is your best offer. You’re not going to strike anyway.”

I thought of the free-floating anger in that union hall often as I travelled the country over the last eight years, reporting for a book about Koch Industries. The anger seemed to infect every corner of American economic life. We are supposedly living in the best economy the United States has seen in modern memory, with a decade of solid growth behind us and the unemployment rate at its lowest level since the 1960s. Why, then, does everything feel so wrong? In April, a Washington-Post/ABC Poll found that 60% of political independents feel that America’s economic system is essentially rigged against them, to the advantage to those already in power. Roughly 33% of Republicans feel that way; 80% of Democrats feel the same.

What reporting the Koch story taught me is that these voters are right— the economy truly is rigged against them. But it isn’t rigged in the way most people seem to think. There isn’t some cabal of conservative or liberal politicians who are controlling the system for the benefit of one side or the other. The economy is rigged because the American political system is dysfunctional and paralyzed—with no consensus on what the government ought to do when it comes to the economy. As a result, we live under a system that’s broken, propelled forward by inertia alone. In this environment, there is only one clear winner: the big, entrenched players who can master the dysfunction and profit from it. In America, that’s the largest of the large corporations. Roughly a century after the biggest ones were broken up or more tightly regulated, they are back, stronger than ever.

I saw this reality clearly when I went to Wichita, Kansas to visit Charles Koch, the CEO of Koch Industries, a company with annual revenue larger than that of Facebook, Goldman Sachs and U.S. Steel combined. Charles Koch isn’t just the CEO of America’s biggest private company. He also inhabits one extreme end of the political debate about our nation’s economy. A close examination of his writing and speeches over the last 40 years reveals the thinking of someone who believes that government programs, no matter how well-intended, almost always do more harm than good. In this view, most government regulations simply distort the market and create big costs down the road. Taxing the wealthy only shifts money from productive uses to mostly wasteful programs. Charles Koch has been on a mission, for at least 40 years, to reshape the American political system into one where government intervention into markets does not exist.

But for all the free-market purity of Charles Koch’s ideology, there is not much of a free market in the corporate reality he inhabits. Koch Industries specializes in the kinds of businesses that underpin modern civilization but that most consumers never see—oil refining, nitrogen fertilizer production, commodities trading, the industrial production of building materials, and almost everything we touch, from paper towels and Lycra to the sensors hidden inside our cellphones. This is the paradox of Charles Koch’s word – he is a high-minded, anti-government free-marketeer whose fortune is made almost exclusively from industries that face virtually no real competition. Koch Industries is built, in fact, on a series of near-monopolies. And it is these kinds of companies that do best in our modern dysfunctional political environment. They know how to manipulate the rules when no one is looking.

Consider the oil refining business, which has been a cash cow for Koch Industries since 1969, just two years after Charles Koch took over the family company following his father’s death. Charles Koch was just in his early 30s at the time, but he made a brilliant and bold move, purchasing an oil refinery outside Saint Paul, Minnesota. The refinery was super-profitable thanks to a bottleneck in the U.S. energy system: the refinery used crude oil from the tar sands of Canada to be refined into gasoline later sold to the upper Midwest. The crude oil was extraordinarily cheap because it contained a lot of sulfur and not many refineries could process it. But Koch sold its refined gas into markets where gasoline supplies were very tight and prices were high.

Why didn’t some competitor open up a refinery next to Koch’s to seize this opportunity? It turns out that no one has built a new oil refinery anywhere in the United States since 1977. The reason is surprising: the Clean Air Act regulations. When the law was drastically expanded in 1970, it imposed pollution standards on new refineries. But it “grandfathered” in the existing refineries with the idea that they would eventually break down and be replaced with new facilities. That never happened. The legacy oil refiners, including Koch, exploited arcane sections of the law that allowed them to expand their old facilities while avoiding the newer clean-air standards. This gave them an insurmountable advantage over any potential new competitor. The absence of new refineries to stoke competition and drive down prices meant that Americans paid higher prices for gasoline. Today the industry is dominated by entrenched players who run aged facilities at near-full capacity, reaping profits that are among the highest in the world. In this industry and others, the big gains go to companies that can hire lawyers and lobbyists to help game the rules, and then hire even more lawyers when the government tries to punish them for breaking the law (as happened to Koch and other refiners in the late 1990s when it became clear they were manipulating Clean Air regulations).

The oil refining business is just one example of how Koch has benefited from complex regulatory dysfunction while public attention was turned elsewhere. In the 1990s, for example, a Koch-funded public policy group called the American Legislative Exchange Council (ALEC) pressured states to deregulate their electricity systems. California was a pioneer in this effort, and the results were disastrous. Lawmakers in Sacramento created a sprawling, hyper-complicated system that surgically grafted a free-market trading exchange onto an aged electricity grid. Virtually no one paid attention to the 1,000-page law as it was being written. Almost immediately after the markets went online in the early 2000s, electricity traders at Koch Industries and Enron began gaming the system. They earned millions of dollars doing so, even as prices skyrocketed and the state’s grid collapsed in rolling blackouts. Lawmakers were blamed when the lights went out, and then Governor Gray Davis was recalled. The role that traders played in the crisis was hard to understand and hidden from view. Federal regulators filed a case against Koch for manipulating markets in California, but the legal proceedings dragged on for more than a decade. Koch ended up settling the charges and paying a fine of $4.1 million, long after the damage was done.

To take another example: In 2017, Koch helped kill part of the Republican tax reform plan to impose a “border adjusted” income tax that almost certainly would have hurt Koch’s oil refining business. The plan was being pushed by none other than Paul Ryan, a onetime Koch ally who was then Speaker of the House. Ryan wanted to include the border adjustment in President Trump’s tax overhaul because it would have benefited domestic manufacturing and would have allowed the government to cut corporate taxes without exploding the deficit. But former Koch oil traders told me that the border adjustment tax would have hurt profits at the Kochs’ Pine Bend refinery in Minnesota. Koch played a vital role in killing the border adjustment tax before a vigorous public debate about it could even begin (A Koch Industries spokesman insisted that the Koch political network opposed the border-adjustment measure only on ideological grounds, because it was basically a tax, and not to protect profits at Koch’s oil refineries) . By the time most people started paying attention, Paul Ryan admitted defeat and jettisoned the border adjustment.

Charles Koch doesn’t talk about issues like this when he talks about free markets. When I met him, Charles Koch was giving interviews for his new book that described his highly detailed business philosophy, called Market-Based Management. I had heard a lot about this philosophy, but what surprised me most when I interviewed the people who worked with him, some for decades, is how much they admire him. They said he was brilliant, but also unpretentious. He was uncompromising, but fair. I felt this way too, the minute I met the billionaire. I remember him telling me something along the lines of: “Hello, Chris! You didn’t need to put on a tie just to see me,” when I walked in the door (my audio recorder wasn’t even running yet, so the quote might be inexact).

Charles Koch’s avuncular, aw-shucks persona masks his true nature. I think of him instead as an uncompromising warrior. He has been fighting since he was a young man. He fought his own brothers, Bill and Freddie, for control of the family company (and won). He fought a militant labor union at the Pine Bend refinery (and won). Most of all, he fought against the idea that the federal government has an important role to play in making the economy function properly—even while taking advantage of government laws to maintain his company’s advantages.

When Charles Koch became CEO in 1967, the U.S. economy operated under a political system that is almost unimaginable today. The government intervened dramatically in almost every corner of the economy, and it did so to the explicit benefit of middle-class workers. This happened under a broad set of laws called the New Deal, which was put in place in the late 1930s. The New Deal broke up monopolies, kept banks on a tight regulatory leash, and even controlled energy prices, down to the penny in some cases. It greatly empowered labor unions and boosted wages and bargaining power for workers. Charles Koch dislikes every element of the New Deal. He has formed think tanks to attack the ideas behind it, donated money to politicians who sought to dismantle it, and built a company that was hostile to it.

As it turned out, the American public joined Charles Koch, to a certain extent, during the 1970s. Vietnam, Watergate, rampant inflation and multiple recessions shattered Americans’ confidence in the government’s ability to solve problems for ordinary people. Passage of the Civil Rights Act shattered the political coalition behind the New Deal, which had relied on Southern segregationists for support. Ronald Reagan rode the tide of antigovernment sentiment to the White House. But even Reagan wasn’t able to repeal the New Deal. He failed miserably when he tried to repeal Social Security, for example. He cut taxes, but never could restrain spending. What emerged during the 1980s and 1990s was an incoherent governing system, one that is deregulated in some key areas, like banking and derivatives trading, but hyper-regulated in others like the small business sector.

If the American political system is confused, Charles Koch is not. He rules over his company with undisputed authority, and he uses that authority to spread his Market-Based Management doctrine. This philosophy inspires the rank-and-file employees at Koch Industries—the company cafeteria is full of young, entrepreneurial workers who thrive in a system that heaps promotions and bonuses on top performers, while unsentimentally weeding out employees considered weak. But the unbending nature of Market-Based Management, and how it applies to the factory floor, played a big role in building the rage that swept through that union hall in Oregon.

When Steve Hammond, the union boss, tried to bargain with Koch, he found himself fighting over ideology, not benefits. In one case, the Koch negotiators wanted to strip down workers’ health care benefits, requiring employees to pay more money out of pocket for their benefits. The Koch team framed their request not as a way to make more money for Koch, but to create a system that better reflected the ideals of Market-Based Management. “It’s a matter of principle,” recalled union negotiator Gary Bucknum. “The principle is that an employee should be paying something toward their healthcare, or otherwise they’ll abuse their health care.” It was hard to bargain against principle. And the unions didn’t have the leverage to fight. The policies that once supported labor unions have been steadily undermined since the 1970s, dragging union participation in the private sector down from about 33% of the workforce to less than 10%. The union took the cut in health care benefits.

The current American political debate is focused on the shiny objects, the high-profile contests between Team Red and Team Blue. But companies like Koch Industries have the capacity to focus on the much deeper system, the highly complicated plumbing that makes the American economy work. This is where Charles Koch’s attention has been patiently trained for decades, as administrations have come and gone in Washington.

Thanks to this focus, Koch wins every time.

VISIT WEBSITE

[thomasthompsonblog]

Federal and California Employment Laws: A Review

Introduction

As an employer, it’s your responsibility to stay up-to-date on all employment laws, both federal and state. Depending on where your business is located, you may be subject to different laws. For example, employers in California have to comply with additional state laws on top of the federal laws. To help you better understand whatemployment laws you need to be aware of, we’ve created a comprehensive guide that covers both federal and California employment Lawyers Near Me . This way, you can ensure your business is in compliance and avoid any penalties.

The National Labor Relations Act

The National Labor Relations Act (NLRA) was enacted in 1935 as a response to the Great Depression. The NLRA protects the rights of employees to form unions and engage in collective bargaining. The NLRA also prohibits employers from engaging in certain unfair labor practices, such as interfering with employee organizing efforts or retaliating against employees for engaging in union activity.

In California, the NLRA is supplemented by the California Agricultural Labor Relations Act (CALRA), which applies to agricultural employees. The CALRA provides similar protections for agricultural workers as the NLRA does for non-agricultural workers. Both the NLRA and CALRA are administered by the National Labor Relations Board (NLRB).

The Fair Labor Standards Act

The Fair Labor Standards Act (FLSA) is a federal law that establishes minimum wage, overtime pay, recordkeeping, and child labor standards affecting full-time and part-time workers in the private sector and in federal, state, and local governments.

The FLSA was enacted in 1938 and has been amended several times since then. The most recent amendments were made in 2004.

Minimum Wage: The FLSA requires that covered employees be paid at least the federal minimum wage for all hours worked. The current federal minimum wage is $7.25 per hour.

Overtime Pay: The FLSA requires that covered employees be paid time and one-half their regular rates of pay for all hours worked over 40 in a workweek. Child Labor: The FLSA sets forth specific child labor provisions prohibiting the employment of minors under the age of 16 in certain occupations deemed to be too hazardous or detrimental to their health or well-being. These occupations are listed in Appendix B to 29 CFR Part 570 - Regulations Implementing the Fair Labor Standards Act.                                                                      Recordkeeping: The FLSA requires employers to maintain accurate records of hours worked and wages paid for covered employees. Employers must also keep accurate records of any deductions made from employees' wages.

The California Labor Code

The California Labor Code is the primary source of employment law in the state of California. The code contains a wide range of laws governing everything from wage and hour rules to workplace safety regulations.

Some of the key provisions of the California Labor Code include:

Minimum wage: California's minimum wage is currently set at $11 per hour for businesses with 26 or more employees, and $10.50 per hour for businesses with 25 or fewer employees. This will increase to $15 per hour by 2023 for all businesses.

Overtime: Employees in California are entitled to overtime pay at a rate of 1.5 times their regular hourly rate for any hours worked over 8 in a day or 40 in a week. Employees who work more than 12 hours in a day or 8 hours on a seventh consecutive day are entitled to double-time pay.

Breaks: Employees must be given a 10-minute paid rest break for every 4 hours worked, and a 30-minute unpaid meal break if they work more than 5 hours in a day. Breaks can be taken at the employee's discretion, but must be taken at some point during the middle of their shift.

Workplace safety: The California Occupational Safety and Health Act requires employers to provide a safe and healthy workplace for their employees. This includes complying with all relevant safety regulations, providing adequate training on hazardous materials, and maintaining accurate records of injuries and illnesses.

These are just some of the

Conclusion

Overall, it is clear that there are a variety of employment Law Firm Near me in place at the federal and state level in California. These laws aim to protect employees from discrimination, harassment, and other unfair treatment. As an employer, it is important to be aware of these laws and make sure that you are compliant. If you have any questions about your obligations under these laws, you should consult with an experienced attorney.

[justlookfrightened]

NHL!Jack

Jack and Bitty finally got together, in the middle of Jack’s playoffs and Bitty's decision to move to Houston. Now what?

Continuation of NHL!Bitty from Jack's POV. Rating may change in later chapters. Not beta'd, so let me know about errors that need to be corrected! 

Also on AO3   or Part 2  Part 3  Part 4  Part 5   Part 6    Part 7

The first thing Jack was aware of was the pounding.

It wasn’t very near, but not far enough to be outside his condo either.

The next thing he became aware of was that this wasn’t his condo.

The light was all wrong, for one, and there was a crack across the ceiling and the walls were a dingy blue.

The bed was too lumpy and far too narrow -- and far too occupied. The man wedged in next to Jack was curled on his side, his firm, round backside pressed against Jack’s hip.

Jack very much wanted to investigate that, but a voice was added to the pounding.

“Bitty! Yo, Bits!”

Bitty. Eric Bittle, the man currently squirming his way to consciousness, his bottom rubbing delightfully against Jack.

More pounding.

“I know you haven’t gone back to Georgia yet!”

Bitty groaned.

“Shitty,” he said.

“What?” Jack said.

More pounding. More yelling.

“I see that monstrosity you call a truck! Don’t make me climb up and come in through the reading room!”

Now Bitty was up and out of bed. He crossed the floor in two steps and threw the window open.

“Shitty!” Bitty yelled. “Some people are sleeping! Give me a minute. I’ll be right down.”

Bitty slammed the window closed and turned back around. Jack had enjoyed the glimpse of Bitty leaning out the window, dressed in nothing but red form-fitting boxer briefs. The view from the front was equally appealing, but it didn’t sound like Jack was going to have the opportunity to do any more than look.

“I’m sorry,” Bitty said. “That’s my friend Shitty. I texted him last night to let him know I was in town. I didn’t expect him to show up at --” Bitty picked up his phone and looked at it “ -- 10:30 in the morning.”

10:30. Jack was due at the practice facility at noon, and he hadn’t even been home to change.

“Crisse. I have to get going,” Jack said.

“Not without breakfast,” Bitty said. “Please?”

“But your friend. Shitty? Really?”

“Really,” Bitty said. “He might be loud and obnoxious, but there’s no one I trust more. I mean, if we’re going to -- If you wanted to --”

Bitty stopped, biting his lip, not quite looking at Jack.

Jack couldn’t leave him uncertain.

“I meant everything I said last night. Of course I want to,” Jack said, pushing the sheet back and swinging his feet to the floor. “Just, maybe the best way to meet your friends isn’t in my underwear?”

Bitty giggled, and that was a sound Jack could definitely get used to.

“If there’s anyone you could meet in your underwear, it’s Shitty,” Bitty said, tugging a T-shirt over his head and pulling on shorts while he said it. “But if you want to shower, you can use the bathroom in there.”

Bitty opened a door, revealing a small bathroom that had a door at the other end, presumably leading to another bedroom.

“There should be a new toothbrush in the second drawer,” Bitty said. “And the shampoo and stuff is mine, so feel free to use whatever you need. I’ll get Shitty to take me to the Murder Stop ‘n’ Shop to get stuff for breakfast. No food allergies?”

“No,” Jack said. “My nutrition plan --”

“Calls for lots of protein, unrefined carbs and healthy fats,” Bitty said. “I know. That’s why I’m not just making pancakes. We’ll be back in 15 minutes and breakfast will be ready in 45. Does that work for you?”

“Uh, sure,” Jack said.

Bitty might be small, might be a rookie, but he was going to be a force to be reckoned with, Jack thought.

He was still grinning as he stripped off his own boxer briefs and stepped under the shower spray.

****************************************

Music was coming from the kitchen when Jack descended the stairs 15 minutes later, wearing the trousers from his suit and the shirt unbuttoned at the collar. He’d washed with Bitty’s things, and he could smell the fresh citrus scent that clung to his skin and hair. It smelled almost like Bitty, but not quite.

He came around the corner to see Bitty, facing away from him, stirring something in a pan on the stove. Onion, by the aroma, and probably peppers. Bitty was wearing the same shorts he pulled on upstairs -- blue, and barely long enough to cover his underwear. His feet were in sneakers, apparently without socks, and it looked like his legs went on for days in between.

His hips swung a bit to the music as he pulled a slice of pepper -- yes, Jack was right -- from the pan to test it for doneness and asked, “So what are you going to do after graduation? You and Lardo have plans?”

That’s when Jack noticed the man sitting at the table -- sitting in the same chair Jack sat in last night when Bitty came and sat on his lap and kissed him. The man had clearly noticed him -- he was watching him watch Bitty with something like amusement.

Shitty -- this had to be Shitty, with shaggy hair and a droopy mustache and a Wonder Woman crop top -- answered Bitty’s question instead of giving Jack away. “I’d go to the beach for a while to study, but it’s summer, so my whole family will be in and out. I think maybe we’ll take some time to find a new place, far from Harvard, that can be our apartment, and I’ll hole myself up there. The bar exam’s at the end of July, but once I take it, I can start work full-time.”

He paused and looked at Jack, which drew Bitty’s eyes to him as well.

“Morning, Bitty,” Jack said. “It smells great in here.”

To Shitty, he extended a hand and said, “I’m Jack.”

Shitty stood to shake hands and said, “Shitty Knight, former resident of this decrepit house and soon-to-be lawyer working in the areas of employment law, diversity and discrimination and educational opportunity.”

“That sounds like a lot to focus on,” Jack said.

Shitty shrugged. “The organization I hired on with works in all those areas. I’m sure I’ll end up working more in one than the others.”

“Shitty was a junior when I was a freshman,” Bitty said. “He was the first real person I ever came out to.”

“Real person?” Jack asked.

“I used to have an internet vlog,” Bitty said. “I told people there, but it didn’t really count because I didn’t know them and I couldn’t see them. It was more like talking to myself.”

Jack poured himself coffee from the pot, refilling Shitty’s mug for good measure, before sitting down and watching Bitty drop four slices of whole-grain bread in the toaster and pour what looked like mostly egg whites into the pan with the vegetables.

“It’s not very fancy,” Bitty said. “But I know you’re on a schedule.”

Shitty looked at Jack and said, “Should I pretend I don’t know who you are and ask what you do and how you know Bitty, or can we dispense with that?”

“Bitty said he trusted you, so let’s just assume you know who I am,” Jack said.

“Coolio,” Shitty said. “Then I can tell you what a sweet goal that was last night before I ask your intentions.”

Jack stiffened, and Shitty laughed and said, “Not really. Bits here is a grown man, as he never fails to remind me, and makes his own decisions. But you should know that he also has a lot of friends who care deeply about him, and would not take it kindly if his hockey idol screwed with him.”

“Shitty!” Bitty looked mortified.

“Relax, Bits, I didn’t mean it like that,” Shitty said. “You two are welcome to screw each other in as many ways as you like, as long as both of you consent and you’re careful to be safe.”

Bitty apparently decided the best way to deal with his friend was to ignore him.

“I apologize for Shitty,” Bitty said. “He means well, but he really should shut up.”

“Come on, Bits, I’ve known you for going on six years, and this is the first person I’ve been introduced to at the breakfast table,” Shitty said. “This is clearly important to you.”

“It’s not like that,” Bitty protested. “Jack came to talk to me after the game last night, and it got late so he stayed. That’s all.”

“Right,” Shitty said. “Did he sleep in the same bed? Because I happen to know there are four bedrooms up there and no one else is here.”

“It’s fine,” Jack told Bitty. “It’s good your friends care about you. I don’t have any intention of toying with your affection. But hockey idol? Really?”

Bitty was practically scarlet.

“Shitty, bless your heart, and butt out,” he said. “Jack, honey, I’m in this for real, too. But I don’t want to hear any more more about that.”

“Ouch,” Shitty said. “Fine. If the ‘bless your hearts’ are coming out, I’ll shut up now.”

**************************************

Jack was on the road by 11:30, meaning there was no way he’d make it to the training rink at noon. Good thing team lunch was first, followed by a 12:30 p.m. meeting. He wouldn’t be hungry anyway, and there was a little more leeway with being late..

The harder thing to figure out was what to do about his clothes. Walking into lunch in yesterday’s suit would be like trying to sneak into his parents’ house at 7:30 a.m. when was 17. He tried it once; it hadn’t gone well.

He did have a gym bag in the car. He could stop somewhere on the road and switch to workout gear. That would still be unusual for him -- he usually wore a higher class of track pants to team meals. But it wouldn’t scream “I haven’t been home” like wearing his suit.

Maybe he should have been better prepared when he drove to Samwell. He hadn’t even known where Bitty was, for sure. Marty said the boys were at some kind of hockey house at Samwell. How hard could it be to find it?

In the end, not very. He’d stopped at a gas station in the town of Samwell and said he was looking for a house where all the hockey players lived. The cashier gave him a blank look, but another customer who was buying beef jerky and Fiji water interrupted.

“It’s not a hockey house,” he said. “It’s the hockey Haus.”

Somehow it sounded different when he said it.

“Go about a half mile up this street, make a right then a left on Jason Street,” the man continued. “You’ll see it on your left. And hey, tell ‘em Johnson said ‘Fuck the lax bros.’”

Jack followed the directions (except the part about saying “Fuck the lax bros”); he knew the house by the crossed hockey sticks mounted above the porch.

He’d thought he prepared himself. He’d gone over the pros and cons of outing himself to Bitty a hundred times, and Marty agreed that it wouldn’t be too big a risk. Someone who chose to go to Samwell was unlikely to be homophobic, at the very least. And there was something in the way Bitty looked at him … and the way Marty and Pops both seemed to want to encourage this. Jack had been pretty sure he had a chance with Bitty.

But he’d been so focused on that that it never occurred to him to think about what would happen next. Was he just going to tell Bitty he had feelings for him and turn around and drive away?

And what if the morning had gone differently? Jack had been too tired last night for anything more than some lazy, long kisses after they went to bed, but what if Shitty hadn’t been banging on the front door when he woke up? Jack certainly hadn’t come prepared for any kind of sexual encounter. Would Bitty have condoms at least?

Next time, Jack told himself, he’d be better prepared.

He pulled into a BP and bought a Gatorade and protein bar before asking where the bathroom was. When he emerged in form-fitting shorts and Under Armor T-shirt, he made his way to the car quickly, not looking up to see if people were watching.

It wasn’t as easy to avoid attention when he got to the Falcs’ facility. He walked into the dining area, grabbing some chicken fajitas before sitting down so he would have something in front of him.

“Zimmboni, you change before lunch?” Tater said. “Why? We change before workout.”

“Maybe he didn’t have anything else to put on,” Thirdy said.

“Jack always did keep workout clothes in his car,” Marty said.

“Why would he need to change into clothes from his car?” Tater said.

“Jack’s wearing his emergency clothes?” Snowy asked. “I always thought he just had those in case there was a pressing need to exercise.”

“Maybe he had another pressing need,” Marty said.

Jack sat stoic through it all, taking a bit of his fajita and chewing it thoroughly.

Finally, he said, “I think we all have the same need,” he said. “We need to win this next game and get home ice back. You all ready?”

[newstfionline]

Are Japan’s Part-Time Employees Working Themselves to Death?

By Joshua Hunt, The Atlantic, Aug. 7, 2018

On a sunny morning in June, a middle-aged lawyer named Yoshimasa Obayashi heard his telephone ring once, and nearly ring again, before he rushed to snatch the phone’s receiver from its cradle. It was an unexpected call, from an unknown caller, who confessed that he feared he was working himself to death. In Japan, this sentiment can be expressed using a single word: Karoshi, or “death from overwork,” refers to fatalities from heart attacks, suicides, and other health issues resulting from the stress and fatigue of long hours spent on the job.

In 1988, at the height of Japan’s economic “bubble years,” a group of doctors and labor lawyers launched Japan’s first telephone hotlines dedicated to curbing karoshi. They published their office telephone numbers in pamphlets, and later online, as a means of offering free consultations to at-risk workers, who typically called the volunteer doctors, and bereaved family members, who usually reached out to lawyers like Obayashi for help with compensation claims.

During the summer of 2000, corporate bankruptcies drove hundreds of run-down salarymen to call the hotline each day. By that time, Japan’s government acknowledged just 100 to 200 karoshi cases each year, though Hiroshi Kawahito, a lawyer at the National Defense Counsel for Victims of Karoshi, told me he doesn’t believe that number. He says that given the level of secrecy on the part of employers and what he considers to have been an overly narrow government definition of karoshi at the time--which, for example, didn’t count someone as having worked to death unless they logged more than 100 hours of overtime in the month before dying--the actual number of victims might have been as high as 10,000 cases annually. (The government now uses a lower threshold of hours.)

Press reports about the karoshi epidemic helped push millions of young workers--many of them college graduates who had been offered jobs with major companies--to opt out of Japan’s deadly corporate culture, instead choosing freelance or part-time careers that allowed for a more relaxed lifestyle. It seemed like a prophylactic, of sorts, against karoshi, and indeed, until around 2008, Japan’s karoshi hotlines were used almost exclusively by full-time, salaried workers. (It was considered a shocking outlier, for example, when a young restaurant worker killed herself that year after working more than 140 hours of overtime in a single month.)

These days, though, Obayashi feels that part-time workers are increasingly at risk of karoshi. In recent years, firms have been eschewing full-time workers in favor of more flexible arrangements with recruits who work for lower wages, with less job security, which leaves them vulnerable to abuses like unpaid overtime and has forced many to take extra jobs. Since 2015, Japan’s number of workers with two or more jobs has grown by roughly 30 percent. “Today’s generation of part-time workers can’t afford to be so carefree,” Obayashi told me.

The Japanese government, which now considers people to be at risk of karoshi if they regularly work 60 hours a week or more, does not publish statistics on the working hours of part-timers with multiple jobs. In July, hoping for a clearer picture, I visited Asami Ito, a community manager at Lancers, which builds software platforms that match freelance workers with companies. According to Lancers research, some 4.5 million full-time workers in Japan have second jobs, where they work, on average, between six and 14 additional hours each week, on top of any overtime hours they clock at their primary job; a small number of them work up to 30 or 40 hours per week at their second jobs. “We’re recruiting many more ‘parallel workers,’” Ito told me, using a Lancers nickname for people with side jobs on top of full-time jobs. Ito said Lancers’s research suggests most of Japan’s workforce will be freelancers by 2027.

The fact that people are working multiple part-time jobs just to earn a living wage is surprising, given that Japan’s low birth rates have left the labor market as tight as it has been in forty years, with almost 1.6 jobs for every applicant. In the food-service industry, workers are in such short supply that McDonald’s recently resorted to an expensive advertising campaign aimed at recruiting housewives and retirees to help out with its busiest shifts. Convenience-store chains have hired more foreign workers, while small and mid-sized manufacturing companies have increasingly turned to automation. But the one recruitment strategy that hasn’t really taken hold is increasing wages.

An explanation lies partly in Prime Minister Shinzo Abe’s signature fiscal policy, known as “Abenomics,” which relies in part on using monetary policies to weaken the yen so as to make exports cheaper for foreigners--which has increased profits for Japan’s manufacturers. In theory, higher corporate profits should have led to higher wages and an increase in consumer spending. Instead, Japan’s corporations have chosen to sit on the piles of cash they’ve earned from Abe’s fiscal policy. Each spring, over the past six years of Abenomics, the leaders of Japan’s major industries have ceded remarkably little ground to unions during the annual wage negotiations known as shunto. Workers have responded by saving what little cash they have, rather than spending it. And while a weaker yen has helped corporations increase exports, it has also made importing products and materials more expensive, which contributes to weakened buying power for Japan’s increasingly cash-strapped households. Overall, workers are spending an average of 11 percent more time to earn the same salary they were bringing home about 20 years ago, and some are working unpaid overtime on top of that. Even the most promising gains leave room for pessimism: In June, government data showed that inflation-adjusted wages rose at a pace not seen since 1997, but that was mostly due to large one-off summer bonuses

In recent years, there have been several high-profile cases of karoshi. In 2013, a 31-year-old journalist working for Japan’s national broadcaster died of heart failure after working 159 overtime hours in a single month, prompting lawmakers to pass legislation aimed at creating greater awareness of the dangers of karoshi. In 2015, a 24-year-old rookie employee at Japan’s largest advertising firm, Dentsu, took her own life under similar circumstances.

The fact that karoshi risk has spread outside Japan’s “lifetime employment” system appears to be related, in part, to a series of legislative changes. A karoshi-prevention measure set to go into effect next year will restrict overtime to 45 hours during normal months, though it allows for up to 100 overtime hours during busier months. Many workers who have come to rely on overtime wages have simply responded by taking on second jobs, according to Lancers data. That development has been helped by a separate recent decision, meant to improve labor mobility, in which Japan’s Ministry of Labor canceled a law that had prevented workers from taking a second job without the approval of their primary employer.

Jun Kobayashi, who has three service-industry jobs that keep him on his feet for as many as 70 hours most weeks, is a reluctant sort of pioneer in the new class of Japanese workers. When I met him on a damp, humid afternoon near the end of June, he barely had time for the subway ride between the job he’d worked that morning and the one he’d work that night. As we hurtled through the spiderweb of tunnels that sprawl out beneath central Tokyo, I asked Kobayashi whether his bosses forced him to work as many hours as he did. “It’s true that they really rely on me,” he said. “But if I didn’t work so many hours I wouldn’t be able to get by.”

[ormendona1979]

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[matthewboyd93-blog]

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