I work in a warehouse.

It’s not pretty.

I work next to a brewery.

The smell is bad.

I sit at a table, not a desk, and I bring my own computer to work; it’s not easy.

I walk to work.

It’s 50 degrees in the warehouse.

I complain about it.

My wrists hurt to a point where I can’t type.

No one cares.

I can’t efficiently work with the cold.

I shut up.

I keep quiet.

I’m a macho man.