The Work As the old adage goes, you can’t polish a turd (during some of our work days I would have preferred to do that), hence there being little glitz and glamour in picking apples. I know what you’re picturing. A sun-dappled orchard, blue sky, hazy laughter floating between the trees as we pranced majestically up and down the rows casually plucking apples from their stems as we supped cold lemonade. Yeah, I imagined a country bumpkin-style ambience, when in actuality it was a factory airlifted to a field with all of the associated incompetence and prejudice (not
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