The Office: A Shocking Situation

Denizens of new office buildings have not only grown accustomed to the loneliness of the operatorless elevator, they have also developed a conditioned reflex. They instinctively slap any metal object—typewriter, watercooler, doorknob—with the flat of the hand before using. Otherwise, little blue sparks fly from fingertips and a nasty, if harmless, jolt runs up the arm. In fact, even the most cautious palm-slapper sometimes yields a small tingle.

Chief villain is the rich wall-to-wall carpeting, without which no new office is self-respecting. The deeper the pile, the worse the shock—particularly if the material has a high synthetic fiber content, which gives a carpet outstanding durability but equally outstanding shock qualities. Next comes wool, with cotton at the bottom of the shock list. A com pounding factor is the increasing prevalence of metal desks, typing tables and wall trimmings, which are brisk conductors of any static charges that anybody can scuff up. Driest days are the worst. When the humidity falls below 20%, executives view every steel-framed desk chair as a potential hot seat, and handshakes are timid.

At the moment, there are three ways of attacking the problem. The simplest is to raise the humidity in the room. But even in the era of built-in air condition ing, this is more easily said than done. Even if it can be done, excessive humidity results in moisture condensing on the windows in cold weather. The second is to spray antistatic chemicals on the rug. But the available antistatic sprays, which are similar to preparations for neutralizing phonograph records, are only temporarily effective and tend to leave a tacky residue that makes them get dirty more easily. The third method is to weave copper wires into the warp and woof of the carpet and then ground the whole thing onto a convenient water or radiator pipe. Since this adds about $1 to the cost per yard, it is too expensive for most offices.

Meanwhile, office workers have to live with the shock problem. In the higher echelons, where the carpeting is lushest, the shocks are worst. To offset this human storage-battery syndrome, some top brass try grounding themselves with door keys, like Franklin's kite. Juniors are careful to pause on metal thresholds before entering the boss's office, in order to discharge accumulated voltage through their shoe soles. "Maybe," says the office manager of a large Manhattan corporation, "we could all trail chains behind us like gasoline trucks."