Health and safety a long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away. Yet, also, in the future...

A warm, Eastwardly wind blew through the treetops and the branches, gently shaking the walkways, ruffling the hair of Colin Jackson. Colin, for his sins, was a bureaucrat. He'd always been a bureaucrat, always filling and sorting, organising and filling, sorting and organising.
 Before the Rebellion, he'd worked as a low-level filling clerk for the Governor in the Outer Rim. But he'd risen to be something of a war hero by systematically misfiling the ingredients for field rations and creating a plague of diarrhea among the Imperial forces. After the rebellion, he'd returned to normal bureaucracy, taking a place in the newly-founded Health and Safety department of the New Republic.
 This job though... Well, the safety standards were... sub-par.

"Look," He began to explain again, "You just can't have living conditions like these. Do you understand?"
"Wermo" replied the Ewok.
"No, no, no!" Colin began again, "You see here, for instance, these rope-swings? Section 14 of the prohibited transport devices Act A.Y clearly bans the use of rope-swings. I mean, how is it disability-friendly? Or suitable for children? Even a trained adult could easily lose his grip and fall."
 The Ewok cocked his head inquisitively and chattered.
"And here" Colin continued. "Here, here and here. The ropes on this walkway are frayed. I mean, you really should have a fixed barrier in place, but rope-barriers are protected as cultural objects. But really, you need to be carrying out a weekly safety test on all such barriers."
 The Ewok titled his head the other way, muttering. After a moment, he rose his arms and waved his spear, signalling another Ewok to hit Colin on the head with a rock, crudely attacked to a stick
 "Look," Colin explained, "That's not going to work on me, I'm not a Stormtrooper. You've got one week to get this place up to spec, or I'm closing it down."
 "Wermo?" Asked the Ewok again.

 Gathering his things, Colin left Endor and headed back to Coruscant. Really, he thought, I ought to turn the lot of them into furry doorstops or something.
 Fucking hairy buggers...

Ah, doorbell. My dear old friend, how I've missed you.

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I walked down the hallway. It was the logical thing to do, if I wanted to open my front door. And I did, because the doorbell had just wrung. Secretly, I hoped it was early Carol singers. Bad ones, whom I could mock.
 Outside, to my disappointment, were two men. They were smart and carrying fliers, and I began to reach for the emergency shotgun I keep in the umbrella stand. You know, in case of religious callers? But then they began to speak, and my hand stopped.
 "Hello Sir, we're here today representing the RSPCE. Did you know, sir, that there are over 3,000 Elves working in illegal sweatshops in this country?"
 I paused. I didn't know that, and I damn well told them so.
 "Well sir, how about this? Did you know that many of these Elves are paid only pennies a day? Or that these working conditions don't follow the guidelines for the health and safety of mythical creatures, leading to high rates of illness and permanent disability?"
No, I replied. I did not know such a thing. And again, I made sure they knew.
 "Well, thank you for your time Sir. Here" and they handed me some pamphlets, "Take a look at these. If you can donate just £4.7 million a month, we can ensure every Elf gets to spend this Christmas with his family, rather than making toys 24 hours a day."

 I took the pamphlets, and retreated in side. I read them, agreeing they made a lot of sense, and then set about freeing the Elves I kept in my basement. From now on, I'm only using child labour!