I walk inside a large warehouse.

There’s a clock on the wall.

It’s 10.02 a.m.

The first thing I notice is the smell of dust, along with the smell of the tape used to seal up boxes.

The lights are bright and fluorescent.

I am wearing Timberland boots and Hard Yakka shorts.

These clothes tell people that I’m ready to work.

That I mean business.

Especially because it’s winter.

There’s a lady at a workstation who might be thirty or forty or fifty.

It’s hard to tell.

Her fingers are wrapped in tape and her eyes are red.

Sometimes my eyes go red too.

Same with my mum.

From pterygium, which you get from being outside and not wearing sunglasses.

I wave at the lady and she wipes her forehead, smiling a bit.

I stare at her and think: Mother Hen.

I imagine that we’ll be great friends.

That she’ll stick up for me.

That sometime someone will say, ‘Oi, that Oliver cunt was fucking late again,’ and Mother Hen will say, ‘Lay off — he’s a good cunt. I saw him come in two minutes early the other day.’

I walk past Mother Hen and towards the office.

There’s a man sitting in front of a computer wearing boots, blue jeans, and a white shirt.

And I think: this man is my boss because he is sitting in the office.

I imagine he has already said to me, ‘G’day, mate, ow ya goan.’

So I say, ‘G’day, mate, ow ya goan.’

And he looks at me and says, ‘G’day mate,’ and then pauses and says, ‘Oliver, right?’

I nod.

He says, ‘Name’s Mick, ow ya goan.’

We shake hands in a strong way.

I think: my dad would be proud.

My dad would be proud of the work ethic I am showing and he would appreciate the attention to detail I have paid to my work clothes and slightly changed accent and firm handshake that tells Mick and the other workers I am serious about work and life and that I am ready to make environmentally friendly reusable coffee cups.

Mick says, ‘Follow me.’

We walk to a workbench.

Mick picks up two boxes and puts them on the bench.

He pours lids out of one box and says, ‘Lids.’

And I nod.

He pours something out of another box and says, ‘Plugs.’

And I nod.

Mick says, ‘Basically, all ya doing is putting plugs inta lids.’

I say, ‘Okay.’

I pick up a plug and try to put it into a lid.

It doesn’t go in.

I think: attention to detail.

Mick smiles.

Mick says, ‘You’ve gotta give it a little.’

And he gives it a little and the plug goes click.

I pick up another plug, put it in the lid, and give it a little until it sort of goes click.

Mick says, ‘There you go.’

And I say, ‘There I go.’

Smiling.

I imagine my thumb muscles and probably arm muscles after doing this for several months, and my leg muscles from standing on the concrete floor, and my back muscles from the way I will keep my back straight while pushing plugs into lids, which will improve my core strength, and I imagine opening the front door to Lisa at my house in a towel not because I have planned it but because she has surprised me at 7.30 a.m., and how we will lie on my bed with bits of sun coming in through the window and her thinking: I didn’t expect him to be so toned, and her saying, ‘Wow, you have a really good body,’ and both of us grinning and giggling because we are in love.

Mick says, ‘Better introduce you to the team.’

And I think: team.

Part of a team.

Mick points at someone and says, ‘This here’s Chung.’

And Chung waves but doesn’t smile.

Mick says, ‘And over here you’ve got Mel, Anna, and Kasey.’

And Mel or Anna or maybe Kasey says, ‘What’s up.’

I say, ‘Hello.’

Grinning weakly because I will forget everyone’s names.

Because I always focus on the ‘hello’ and the smiling and the first impression and never the person I am talking to.

Mick says, ‘All right guys, back to work. Smoko in thirty.’

And Mel or Anna or maybe Kasey says, ‘Hey!’

Mick grins and says, ‘What’s wrong, mate?’

‘Gonna give us girls a smoko too?’

Mick turns to me and says, ‘Careful, or they’ll bust your balls.’

And I begin grinning and keep grinning and Mel or Anna or maybe Kasey says, ‘Why are you grinning?’

And I say, ‘I don’t know.’

I’m twenty-five years old.

It seems insane to me that I don’t know why I’m grinning.

Recently I’ve begun wearing mostly white t-shirts.

And when I say ‘mostly’ I mean most of the time.

But I also say ‘mostly’ because they’re covered in stains.

It seems like the truest way to express who I really am.