You finally understand why old factories had such high suicide rates. It's not the long hours—it's that one guy in accounting who's been humming the same four notes of "Don't Stop Believin'" for six months, each day a little flatter than the last. By week three you're not trying to focus anymore; you're trying to remember who you were before the humming. You start researching noise-canceling headphones like they're a lifeline. Spoiler: they're not—he just hums louder, like he's in competition with the technology, and now you're both losing.