Plinko®
TO THE WAREHOUSE MANAGER IN WEST LONDON — IF YOU’RE READING THIS, FIND ANOTHER MUG FOR YOUR 12-HOUR SHIFTS! 🖕📦 I SWEAR I’M NEVER COMING BACK. Alright everyone, my name’s Luke Fletcher. I’m 31, and until three weeks ago, I was destroying my back working as a forklift driver in a massive warehouse in West London. 12-hour shifts, six days a week. Constant overtime, noise, dust and bloody hard work. Anyone living in London right now knows just how mental the rental market has become. We were paying nearly £2,000 a month for an ordinary little old house. By the time you’ve paid council tax, gas and electric, filled up the car and bought a basic week’s shop at Tesco, your bank account is practically empty. My wife and I have two young kids, and we were literally living from payday to payday, worrying about every single pound we spent. Then the absolute nightmare happened. The head gasket went on my car. The local mechanic quoted me nearly £3,000 to get it fixed. You can technically live in London without a car, but with my shifts it was practically impossible. Sometimes I had to be at the warehouse before public transport was properly running, and other times I wouldn’t finish until the middle of the night. I swallowed my pride and, during our morning break, walked into our manager’s air-conditioned office — sandwich and a can of energy drink in hand — and asked him, man to man, for a small advance on my wages. The bloke barely even looked up from his computer. Right in front of the whole shift, he said: “Luke, you’re lucky I’m even giving you this many shifts. No car? Get the bus or find another job, mate.” The lads around me awkwardly looked down at the floor. And inside, I was absolutely boiling. That night, at about 1:00 AM, I was sitting at the kitchen table staring at a pile of overdue gas and electric bills. My wife was already asleep. She’d been crying earlier that evening because of all the stress. I was mindlessly scrolling through Facebook whe
