It's a beautiful day outside. I wish it were raining. We're forced to work Sunday and I already hate it.

There are 52 Sundays in a year, and 1/3 of them are covered in snow, ice and brutal winter. I don't want to be here today. I want to be outside.

Almost everyone in this room has a partner or kids or someone to go home to. I get to go home alone. I hate it here. I can't even look at my manager any more. I hate him. I will never do this again. No amount of money gets you a Sunday back.