Sven Bjerg had it good. In just three years he could understand the mad English language and its totally weird slang. He had a car and flat, done-up nice in a posh part of town.
And his online business was looking good at the bank, showing a nice profit and growing visibly.
The office he ran looked pretty juj too. His team of twenty sat open-plan at fitted workstations on the top floor above a high street boutique – designer wall prints, soft downlights, plush carpet and the best heating-aircon system in the country.
His staff loved him. Everybody on big salaries with big incentives, everything laid on, nothing too much trouble. Every week there was a lunch or free drinks in the pub. If somebody needed a day off, they took it without coming off their leave. Early birds before 7.00 am had free bacon butties.
Which is right about where Bjerg’s disaster started, although he didn’t know it. With staff earning bucket-loads of cash, everyone worked round the clock. Fast food at their desks or round the conference room table. Coffee and snacks constantly on the go.
Of course every night, the place looked like a bomb had hit it. No problem, Bjerg found this team of Latvian cleaners who made the whole place sparkle. Vacuum the floors, dump the rubbish, feather-dust the desks and neaten all the paper piles.
Except it wasn’t good enough. Though they looked lean, those beechwood work tables were crawling with 400 times more microbes than a toilet seat. Spilled drinks, crumbs from biscuits and sandwiches mixed with street dust bred germ colonies of 20,000 microbes per square inch.
It got worse, because everything was so efficient. To dose everybody equally, the triple whammy aircon system stirred up the air so that staff lived on a constant but invisible stream of Rhinovirus, MRSA, Salmonella, Norovirus, Campylobacter and E. coli.
Sick leave was generous of course, as much time as anyone wanted, on full pay.
Until the day came that everybody was sick all at once.
Bjerg himself tried to make it into work. For two hours he sat on the loo more than at his desk, threw up three times, and blacked out once.
It couldn’t be the Latvians, the place looked spotless. Could anything be lurking on the phones, keyboards or spaghetti of cables on every desk?
Last throw of the dice, in two days he’d be out of business.
He made one call. Maybe somebody could blitz the place and get rid of what was killing them.
They did, with a fine-mist spray of hydrogen peroxide. Sealed the whole place up and fogged it out, total room sterilisation in 45 minutes. And the cost?
Bjerg had change out of £350.
The place gets done every week now. Misted up and sterilised while everybody relaxes. And they’re all on bonuses because nobody goes sick. Making a fortune.
So many people pester him to work there, he’s specially asked to keep quiet about it . We won’t keep quiet about the hydrogen peroxide though.
At offices, schools, hotels, restaurants, on trains, buses and planes – everybody needs to know they can be safe from germs wherever they are.
Not bad for a Nineteenth Century discovery your doctor has probably forgotten about. And so inexpensive, drug companies don’t make any money out of it.
It could save your life though. And your business!