xymnovel 5. For a modern person to travel back to World War II, becoming an expert seems to be the easiest op
5. For a modern person to travel back to World War II, becoming an expert seems to be the easiest op
Sean walked toward the goods; the work still had to be done. With an extra fifteen dollars, next month's rent wouldn't be a problem.
Sean lifted a wooden crate, hoisted it onto his shoulder, and walked out of the warehouse.
Walking down the street, I saw many of my fellow workers carrying boxes.
"Haha, Sean, you've made Mr. Hughes dizzy with your bragging."
"Yes, I never thought you could make money by bragging."
Am I bragging?
What did I brag about? In my past life, it was always others who bragged, and I just watched.
Sean was both amused and exasperated. It was clearly information about the future; wasn't this information fee worth $15?
"Why do you say I'm bragging?" Sean asked irritably, carrying the box. He was only talking about history.
"Poland collapses in a week? Hahaha, that's millions of people. Even if it were a million pigs, it would take you a long time to slaughter them."
"Sean, you just love to brag. Beating Poland in a week would scare even God."
"Sean, how do you manage to lie so easily?"
I'm speechless. Sean kept his mouth tightly shut.
"Teach me, Sean, so I can brag to girls and maybe make her fall for me."
Hehe, Sean suppressed a laugh. You guys are amazing. I've been made a liar and a braggart.
He knew his words were exaggerated, and not only his coworkers and landlord didn't believe him, but the vast majority of people didn't believe him either.
Even Germany was not confident that its mechanized forces, in conjunction with the air force, could achieve significant results before the war; they were equally uncertain.
This marks the first time in human history that an armored formation has been deployed.
Only you know the outcome.
Everyone else is drunk, but I am the only one sober.
It's quite uncomfortable to feel like you're not being accepted by everyone.
If this were online, I'd definitely have a serious argument with you all.
Sean shook his head as he carried the boxes with a thud.
After less than two trips, I was exhausted, drenched in sweat, and my whole body ached. The muscles in my right shoulder were constantly throbbing and painful.
"I need to find a new job."
Sean vowed to find a decent job, as manual labor was not a long-term solution.
After lunch, the afternoon was spent moving drilling equipment, which was much more tiring than the morning, and I ended up with a lot of oil stains on my body.
Looking at his few clothes and pants, Sean pursed his lips.
I also have to do laundry. My God, I can't live like this anymore.
His brown trousers had patches of stains on them, all of which hadn't been washed off.
Looking at his own predicament, Sean sighed helplessly. This is what it's like to be at the bottom of society.
It's real, yet filled with untold sorrow.
Who the hell said time travel is a good thing? Everyone's always fantasizing about being able to travel through time.
I almost died here.
This seems to echo the netizens' complaints: "Who told you not to cheat?"
Sean was incredibly frustrated. Where was his cheat code? He had a cheat code, yet he was just dreaming about it.
After finishing the last move, today was finally over. Sean arrived at the warehouse and lined up to wait for Bishop to pay him, like a herd of livestock waiting to be put into the pen.
When it was his turn, the fat man ate fried chicken while stretching out his greasy hand, palm open, towards Sean.
What does that mean? It means that seeing the other person not doing anything and just eating and getting fat makes you angry.
"You made a lot of money today, fifteen dollars, I see, twenty percent, three dollars."
No way, that's money I earned chatting.
"That's not dockworker work," Sean's voice deepened. Three dollars, that was his daily wage.
"But you found that income at the docks, didn't you? This is the dockworkers' union, and I manage everything for the dockworkers."
Is it still possible to do this?
You piece of shit.
"No!" Sean was being stubborn; he simply wouldn't give it to him.
"If you don't follow the rules, you might not be able to find a suitable job tomorrow, since there are many people waiting for work."
Are you threatening me?
"Hmm!" The fat man pursed his lips, suppressing a smile. "You don't have to do this job, after all, you're quite the smooth talker."
FUCK! How am I exaggerating? I'm talking about true history.
The fat man had this air about him that he thought he had me completely under his thumb, which was infuriating.
Did you bully me after I transmigrated here?
"Okay." Sean held out his hand.
"I like your attitude, give it to me." The fat man's enormous chin swayed.
Raise your right hand, clench your four fingers, and flick your middle finger.
"Take it!"
The people around him fell silent. What was Sean doing?
"What do you mean?" The fat man was stunned; he hadn't expected the honest Sean to rebel.
"Don't you understand?" Sean waved his middle finger. "Go fuck your ass, just go fuck your ass!"
"FUCK!" The fat man's face turned red, never expecting Sean to embarrass him in front of everyone.
"MOTHER FUCKER!"
"asshole!"
"SON OF A BITCH"
"Damn it, you're insulting me." The fat man's neck turned red.
"SUCK MY ASS, bitch!"
The surroundings were completely silent; Sean never even repeated himself when he was cursing.
Yes, although English swearing isn't very sophisticated and has a limited vocabulary, I can do it.
Sean, being an Easterner in his previous life, never admits defeat when it comes to swearing.
"You skinny monkey." The fat man, suppressing the bulging veins, racked his brains for words.
"Go to the hell and smoke my cigar!"
Wow!
Eat my, you big gray machine!
The surrounding workers were all trying to suppress their laughter.
"You, you bastard!" The fat man realized he couldn't win the argument.
"See, that's all you know how to say."
"you!"
"WHAT THE FUCK? ASSHOLE!" (Chrysanthemum Terrace is covered in wounds.)
"I!"
"That's it. It's pointless to insult you; you won't even fight back."
Haha, everyone around burst into laughter.
Sean, well done.
Everyone was silently cheering for Sean; that damn hamster was indeed annoying.
"Listen, fatso, if you don't give me my paycheck today, I'm shoving your fingers into your damn FCUKING ASS!"
Sean was like an angry bull, swaggering and showing off to the fat man.
They actually managed to intimidate the other party.
He's a coward who bullies the weak and fears the strong.
Sean held out his hand and offered it to Bishop. "Give me my daily wage. You know, I'm a white man."
White people.
Yes, even though the economy is bad right now, Sean is white.
A pure white man, of genuine Anssa descent.
"If you don't give me the money, I will sue you. You should know that if I complain to the union, they will definitely take my case. And if you don't give me the money, I can even go to the police station to sue you for robbery, and they will take my case."
You know exactly what you've been doing; you're extorting everyone.
I'll make you lose this job.
That's what you call a threat.
Furthermore, you once threatened women under the guise of recruitment. Even if no one believes me, what will your wife think?
Divorce me? Take half of my assets? Maybe I'll fight with you every day.
Because of the negative impact you caused, the union will only fire you to appease public anger, and you will lose your pension.
That's the real threat, Fucker.
"Damn it! Take your money and disappear right now!"
Sean picked up the $3.2 on the table; it was his due.
Carefully stuffing the coins into his pocket, Sean pulled up his collar and quickly walked out of the warehouse. He knew the fat man had a gang behind him.
A wise man doesn't suffer a loss he can avoid.
Sean walked out of the Port of Los Angeles, got on a red train, and instead of going home, went to the Los Angeles Times.
He looked at the unassuming building, which housed one of the largest newspapers in the United States, and thought that perhaps he really needed to pursue a career as a critic.
First, you need to gain fame and become a true expert.