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🔴 7 YEARS IN A WAREHOUSE AND I'M STILL RUNNING IN CIRCLES 🔴 My name is James Carter. I'm 36. I live in Birmingham, Small Heath area. Seven years I've been working in an Asda warehouse. The place is huge, like a hangar. It smells of cardboard, dust and sweat. My shift starts at 4am and ends at 2pm. I pick orders. Walk with a trolley down the aisles. Take products off the shelves and put them in boxes. One order. Then another. Then the hundredth. In one shift I walk 20 kilometres. My knees hurt. My back hurts. My right hand went numb two years ago — doctors said “carpal tunnel syndrome.” I wear a brace. I keep working. £12.40 an hour. After tax — about £1,900 a month. Sounds okay? It's not. Rent for a two-bedroom flat — £780. The three of us live there: me, my wife Clare and our son Luke. He's seven, in Year 2. Bills: gas, electric, water — about £150 in winter. Bus and sometimes a taxi for Luke — £90. Food — £350. I barely eat meat. It's expensive. Clothes — £40. Charity shops. Phone and internet — £55. Subscriptions — £15. Just Netflix. Left over: about £420. It feels like money. It's not. Because £420 covers everything I forgot — and everything that will happen tomorrow. And tomorrow always happens. Last year the washing machine broke. We couldn’t afford a new one for three months. We washed by hand in the bath. Then we bought one on credit. Another £280 of debt. Before Christmas Luke’s teeth started hurting. Private dentist — £120. No payment plans. The debts piled up. Like a snowball. First £400 on the credit card. Then £600. Then £1,200. Now I owe £3,400 — not including rent. Rent I pay on time. Almost always. Clare works as a cleaner in an office, three evenings a week. She comes home at 11pm, falls onto the sofa and falls asleep. We barely talk. Not because we don’t love each other — because we have no energy. I look at her and think: “How did we end up like this?” Every month I sit with a calculator, lay out the expenses. And every month it’s
