You call that luxury! When I was a lad we were put into a cardboard box on the middle of t’motorway, made to code an entire distributed database in our lunch hour, and if we had less than 100% coverage the project manager would cut us into little pieces and dance on our graves.
you had graves?! in my day management would sell our organs on the black market and feed the rest of our corpses to the HQ lobby piranha aquarium, though they'd still charge our estates for the tombstone retainer of course.
You had piranha tanks? Back in my day our managers just threw us in a empty concrete room with no windows and no outlets, tossed a computer at us and said "fix it". If we were lucky they'd say what "it" was. If we were extra lucky, they'd throw us a keyboard. Not that that mattered anyways.
You had keyboards? Luxury, back in my day we had to stamp punch cards with the tips of our fingers. If we made a mistake, the head operator would cut one of our fingers off with a bread knife. We didn't mind though, it made us tough, that and sleeping in the car park wrapped in tape from old backups just t'stay warm.
Did you sleep in cars in the car park or on the car park concrete?
You had concrete car parks? When I were a lad, we had to inherit from car park and implement parking spaces ourselves. And if you had an overflow you had to walk -2147483648 miles to work.