I'm thinking of something similar in the various jobs I've done.
"Can you grab that pot out of the kiln? Don't bother to use the gloves. It's probably cool enough."
"Just rip the board without the guard. You'll get a more precise cut, and forget the goggles, too."
"No, that gauge has never worked right. It's still OK when it reads in the red."
All of these are true stories that happened to me. I ignored the first two suggestions, and I reported the third. By the way, the gauge was correct, and the valve was faulty and extremely dangerous.
First restaurant gig was under a pastry chef whom I can only assume was deranged. In fact, my belief in her insanity has served to protect her both from violence, and sabbotage via corporate espionage. I chose to pity her, even as she confessed to deliberate, systematic undermining of my confidence and happiness.
Anyway, she frequently gave me dull tools and insisted I work quickly. I used her dull shit, but I worked slowly. Cutting, slicing, even grating with a dull tool is dangerous. She used to tell me I needed to put my blood, sweat and tears into the place. She said not to be afraid to lose a little skin.
I certainly cried a few times before I left. Another cook once found me crying while I was ostensibly looking for misplaced produce in the walk-in, and advised me not to get caught or she'd get worse- that was her modus operandi. I certainly got sweaty. It was summer when I started there and it was my responsibility to make all the bread and crackers. That's very active work next to a bank of ovens. But I refused to bleed. If Chef gave me shitty tools, I replaced them during my break, or brought mine from home the next day, and just took my time being careful until I did.
My body, my choice.
I understand not everyone has the same values. I wish sex workers were more interested in organizing. I wish they would all take precautions, I can't make them, and I don't believe for a second that if I stop watching they will stop producing.
