I gotta get this off my chest I really do no one else will ever hear it no way but it’s just… it’s too much man I mean I’m a supervisor right at the warehouse been there twenty-five years since I was a kid practically worked my way up from the bottom still got the scars to prove it too but now it’s like I’m walking on eggshells every single day just to keep things… calm. You know? To keep the peace. It’s this prayer circle thing. Every morning. Before shift. Voluntary they say. HA. Voluntary my ass. The whole crew goes. Every single one of them. My best guys my fastest loaders the ones who keep the numbers up for me for us. They’re all deep into it. Born again types most of them. And look I don’t care what people believe in their own time but this is WORK. This is my JOB. It started small a couple of them just kinda huddling up quiet like then it was more people then it was someone leading it then one day my foreman Dave bless his heart he’s a good man but he came up to me and asked if I wanted to join in for a bit of fellowship before the grind. He said it with this big smile you know this innocent smile like how could I say no to fellowship? So I went. Just that once I told myself. A courtesy. And now it’s like a thing. Every morning. I stand there. With my eyes closed. Or mostly closed. Peeking sometimes. And they’re all praying for like good shipments or safety or whatever and I’m just standing there thinking about the pallets that need moving or if I remembered to call Mom’s nurse about her meds or if my son’s gonna fail algebra again. My mind is everywhere but God. Sorry. No offense meant to anyone who believes. But it’s just… it’s not for me. But if I don’t go? Oh man. The looks. The quiet. It’s not like anyone says anything directly. No one would dare. But the vibe shifts. You can feel it. Like I’m suddenly an outsider. Like I’m not one of them. And these are the guys I rely on. The ones who get the job done. I need them to trust me. To feel like we’re a team. And if they think I’m some godless heathen who’s gonna send them to hell for a missed shipment… well it just makes everything harder. And it already IS hard. My mom she’s getting worse every day the memory stuff and my dad he’s practically useless with it all and the kids they’re grown but still need money for everything and my wife she works hard but it’s still all on me mostly. So I stand there. I bow my head. I mumble along to the amen. I even nod when someone says something about divine guidance for inventory management. Divine guidance. For inventory. I bite my tongue so hard sometimes I swear I can taste blood. It’s just so stupid. And I feel so fake. So utterly fake. Like I’m playing a part in some terrible play every single morning. And for what? So Dave doesn’t give me the side-eye? So Bobby doesn’t think I’m going to hell? It’s exhausting. Really truly exhausting. To pretend. To be someone I’m not just to keep my crew happy just to keep my job easy just to keep my whole life from falling apart because one wrong move at work and suddenly the mortgage is late and Mom’s medical bills are piling up and everything’s just… gone. And I can’t let that happen. Not after all this time. Not when everyone relies on me. Everyone. All the time. So I just keep going. And I keep my mouth shut. And I keep my head bowed. And I pray it stops soon. Or that I win the lottery. Something. Anything. Before I just scream.