I'm sorry, I'm not interested
buy crixivan At least in this respect, Liberty reflects my experience. I spent my teens and early twenties in a succession of shops and food outlets, and my overwhelming memory of that period is one of boredom. We'd stand around in our lanyards and hairnets, and wait until we could go home. That was it. We'd invariably hate our manager, they in turn would hate their area manager and everyone would be united in their hatred of the customers, who at least deserved it. A documentary set in the Ashford branch of the Three Cooks bakery in the late 1990s would be like watching the first cut of an especially bleak Ingmar Bergman film about sausage rolls.