Federal Government Sues Private Company For Requiring Employees To Speak English On The Job - Personal Liberty : Personal Liberty
In other words, those groups’ linguistic characteristics must be honored by employers who typically are more interested in productivity and profit than hurting someone’s feelings during a scheduled work shift because they can’t communicate with them.
That does not mean people must work there.
That does not mean anyone else should have to do business with that business.
That does not mean that the public must be forced to bailout that business if it fails.
However, it would likely mean that that business would soon be out of business. And everyone would have an individual right respecting choice, in the outcome.
Oh. That's not what you meant. My apologies. I thought you were insulting me. Say it where I can understand it next time, please.
We have a global "English Only" policy for almost everyone - Polish, German, Philippines, etc. This is for ease in communication since we do global 24 hour engineering projects. This extends from board members to shop workers for safety and security reasons.
The difference is that speaking English isn't a prerequisite for employment. If you are eager, talented and most of all willing to learn and use, the company spends the resources to have a potential employee trained. Makes for a better employee if they pass.
My suspicion is that some straw boss was afraid that people were making fun of him.
Moreover, having worked for Kawasaki, Honda, and Zeiss, a shop rule for "English only" just seems bizarre.
Hopefully your life never depends on quickly understanding something like this.
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"Alex!" It was Mary Hopkins's voice. She was sitting mission control for this dip. Alex wondered if he should be flattered . . . And if Lonny was there with her. "We've got a bogey rising," said Mary. "Looks like he's vectoring in on you."
So, they don't shoot missiles out of Greenland? Find another line of work, Alex—boy; you'll never make it as a soothsayer. "Roger, Big Momma." He spun to Gordon. "Taking over," he barked. "Close the scoop. Seal her up. Countermeasures!"
"Da!" He said something else, too rapid to follow.
"English, damn your eyes!"
"Oh. Yeah. Roger. Scoops closed."
Piranha felt better. Under control. "Close your faceplate." Alex pulled his own shut and sealed it.
"Alex, I have something." Gordon's voice sounded tinny over the radio, or maybe a wee bit stressed. "Aft and to the left and below," he said.
Seven o'clock low.
"Constant bearing and closing."
"Drop flares." That wouldn’t do any good. Piranha was the hottest thing in the sky right now. But like the lady said, while spooning chicken soup to the dead man, it couldn’t hurt. "How are they seeing us?"
"K-band."
"Jam it."
"Am."
He sure enough was. Alex grunted. At least Gordo had read that book. Alex squinted at his radar. There was the bogey, sure enough. Small. Constant bearing and closing. "Hang on." He peeled off to starboard and watched the heat gauge rise. Piranha didn't have wings for a near miss to tear off. Just small, fat fins and a big, broad, flat belly to be melted, evaporated or pierced. Alex bit his lip. Don't think about that. Concentrate on what you can do.
The sharp turn pushed him against the corner of his seat. Alex relaxed to the extra weight and prayed that his Earth-born bones would remember how to take it. Decades of falling had turned him soft. The acceleration felt like a ton of sand covering him. He felt the blood start in his sinuses. But he could take it. He could take it because he had to.
Gordon sat gripping the arms of the copilot's seat. His cheeks sagged. His head bowed. Gordon had been born in free fall and thrust was new to him. He looked frightened. It must feel like he'd taken sick.
The turn seemed to go on forever. Alex watched the bogey on the scope. Each sweep of the arm brought the blip closer to the center. Closer. He pulled harder against the stick. The next blip was left of center. Then it arced away. Alex knew that was an illusion. The missile had gone straight; Piranha had banked.
"You lost it!" Gordon shouted. He turned and looked at Alex with a grin that nearly split his face in two.
Alex smiled back. "Scared?"
"Hell, no."
"Yeah. Me, too. Anyone flying at Mach 26 while a heatseeking cruise missile tries to fly up his ass is entitled to be scared."
....
"Understood, Big Momma. We'll get your air." Take that, Commander Lonny Hopkins. He clicked off and turned to Gordon. "Open the scoops, but bleed half of it to the scramjets."
"Alex . . ." Gordon frowned and bit his lip.
"They say they need the air."
"Yeah-da." Gordon's fingers flipped toggled switches back up.
Alex felt the drag as the big scoop doors opened again. The doors had just completed their cycle when Gordon bean shouting. "Ekho! Ekho priblizháyetsya!"
"English!"
Something exploded aft of the cabin and Alex felt his suit pop out. His ears tried to pop, and Alex MacLeod whined deep in his throat.
.....
"Alex?"
"What?" He turned his head. In the dark he could not see Gordon, but he could sense the youngster's presence in the other bed.
"About . . . About the dip trip . . ."
"What? That again?" Couldn't the kid let it be? I'd like to have seen him do better. "What about it?" he snapped.
"I'm sorry I didn't speak English."
". . . When?"
Gordon twisted around, painfully, to look at him. "When? In final innocent carefree moment before missile shred Piranha's fin!"
----
Fire!
I'm also teaching myself to speak and write in D'Ni...
(One of the spoken/written languages in the "Myst" series... think "Klingon" in Star Trek).