When I don these smelly-ass, piece of shit fast-food uniforms, just to make enough to be able to fucking eat… I don't feel like a person. I feel like shit. I feel like a serf. Like, the land I work on, I work for the benefit of the one who owns it; not for my own, let alone my own advancement. I feel like, the only reason I put on these tacky, uncomfortable uniforms is not 'to represent our brand' or whatever cliche bullshit I'm told. I feel like, the only reason I'm putting it on, is so that I, as a lowly employee, know my place in the current Neo-Planter Class hierarchy. That my life is worthless unless someone else can make their own worthwhile off my hard labor. And killing myself wouldn't make a fucking difference. I'm completely worthless without them. And yes, I'm suicidal because of this line of reasoning; but unless those suicide hotlines give me a direct line to 100,000 USD, then don't fucking bother. They lied to you. Money DOES buy happiness in a society that it rules…