The entire workshop was filled with the hot, smoky smell of engine oil and metal dust.Everyone focused on me with astonishment and contempt, as if looking at a lunatic.Our boss, Bill Lamar, was in his 40s. He was a chubby man who wore gold-rimmed glasses. At that moment, he emerged from the crowd. He surveyed me from head to toe, his gaze like a surgical knife, moving from my faded old work clothes to my dusty boots.Finally, his gaze rested on my hands, which were covered with calluses and small scars."You?" he snorted, filled with undisguised mockery. "Shaun Zigger, right? HR said you used to work as a warehouse manager of a state-owned enterprise?""I'm a senior maintenance technician," I corrected him. My voice was not loud, but each word was clear."Senior maintenance technician?" Bill seemed to have heard the biggest joke as he burst into laughter, his protruding belly quivering.There was immediately a chorus of chuckles throughout the workshop."A senior maintenance
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