Complaining about a tragic day
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It’s fucking exhausting. They get paid little and have to do a lot of work.
I went to change the oil in the pump, but there were no operators available, so I had to do it myself – pumping out the oil, filtering it, and changing the oil. As a result, I got covered in oil. It wasn’t something I was supposed to do, but I spent the whole morning doing it. Damn it.
To borrow a phrase: perhaps one day in the future, you will thank the busy version of yourself today.
Either adapt to the environment or leave it.
I don’t want to leave, but I want a raise.
How can I not be sad when you advise me to extinguish the fire in my heart?
What else can I do? Whatever you do is wrong. . .