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This Is Why I Go To Work


After a good, long run, we have decided to close our forums in an effort to refocus attention to other sections of the site. Fortunately for you all, we're living in a time where discussion of a favorite topic now has a lot of homes. So we encourage you all to bring your ravenous love for discussion to Chuck's official Facebook, Twitter, Tumblr and Instagram. And, as always, you can still post comments on all News updates. Thank you for your loyalty and passion over the years. These changes will happen June 1.

That mundane task that which one partakes in order to sustain financial obligations; the puke we eat in order to perpetuate the process. Routinely inhibiting enjoyment.
But it isn't all bad. It offers you stability, purpose, and builds character if one utilizes it correctly, and perhaps with a little luck. It's even a source of pride in many cases. Still, most people would be hard-pressed to go one day without hearing or feeling a complaint about it. We all have our own reasons why we do it. We deal with sore feet--shitty people--dangerous equipment--ass chewings--carpal tunnel--ruining clothes. For that, there must be a reason why. Probably more than the wistful urge to buy shit, but maybe not.
I go to work for a sense of financial stability that I wasn't given as a child. For seven years, I wasted my time in an attempt to move up in the ranks within the warehouse that I worked in, and I did. I started out making eight bucks per hour, which felt great. It was a fifty cent step-up from my previous job. I worked my way up to dock leader. Made about ten bucks per hour. Kept it up and became assistant manager. Fifteen bucks. You see where this is going. Flash forward, and I'm the manager of a new warehouse they opened. I was making big money, I thought. The idea of ever leaving was out of the question. Until my boss (the worst human being I've personally interacted with) decided to demote, and I decided to change careers. So I left for Pennsylvania, and with no experience was making twice of what I busted my ass and ruined my back for; instantly.
Now I can't walk away from it. It's too much money. I have obligations. People. Things.
Why do you go to work?