It's A Living?

Work was, well, worky. It was a warehouse job, putting together loads of pet products for delivery, and it wasn't exactly high-paid, but it was a port in a storm. His immediate boss was a prick six years younger than him who blasted hip-hop music at top volume all night. Every day working there was another mile logged on the highway to hell. He had a small radio strapped to his forklift, but it was too puny to fight back against the massive wall-mounted boombox tuned to top 40. It was always a relief to gain the safe haven of his car and head home. Most people don't like their job, he mused, but are you supposed to dread it?