SPOILED.

That’s what I’ve thought for the majority of mind-numbing meetings I’ve endured during 35 years of public sector employment. I’d be afraid to add up the total minutes and hours I’ve wasted in my life listening to complaining and whining during meetings that, for the most part, accomplished very little or next to nothing. I tore my soul apart listening to alleged grown-ups complaining over juvenile issues. Every single time, I suffered embarrassment wondering what my father would have thought of how spoiled we all were. Every single time, I recalled visions of the crushing factory work that he did for decades. I saw it. I was an eyewitness. I felt it for a fraction of the career he endured. I worked there for a few years during high school. He lifted heavy weight 8 hours, 5 days a week for most of his adult life. I never heard him complain about his work. Not once. Not one single word. Ironically, after I escaped the hell of factory work, I endured the hell of professional whiners.

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