Tough is relative

My day passed in a blur of meetings with snatches of time for clearing my work. It was a struggle for me as as I hadn't slept well the night before.

In the lift to the ground floor, I greeted a cleaner auntie carrying two bags of faintly 'aromatic' rubbish.

"Going home?" she asked.

"Yes, thankfully," I replied. "What about you?"

"I work late till 10pm."

"Oh, you start work late?"

She paused for an embarrassed moment and said, "No, er, I work from 7am to 10pm. 15 hours."

I gaped at her. "You must be tired!"

"We just do what we have to do," she said with another embarrassed smile.

I walked out of the lift feeling two-feet tall. Here I was complaining about a hectic work day. And there the cleaner auntie lives a 15-hour work day simply because she has to.

That's what I should call tough.


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