You’ll learn more about the human condition whilst working for minimum-wage, than you would by reading The Guardian.
During university, I spent the summers feeding planks of wood into a sanding machine. The noise was an oppressive mix between a runway and one of those sick-making nightclubs in which awful young people pretend to enjoy themselves.
In such work, the little things matter the most. The difference between a slog and a manageable day often the result of one’s lunch, and one’s newspaper, and of course, the radio. Such jobs are a kind of Stanford Prison Experiment.
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