I must have seen a million pictures of the offices where the Internet’s giant companies keep their minions. Keeriste, grow up. They’re all filled with playpens and ball crawls and juice bars and romper rooms. They’re smeared with dreadful primary colors and spangled with motivational posters that wouldn’t motivate a tweeker to shimmy.

Then you go to the Ferrari factory. You’ll notice that they’re making things. Tangible, (hyper)useful things. They don’t fill an airplane hangar’s-worth of undifferentiated desk space and Lego tables with people who labor for years to get a bird to flap a bit on a phone, all paid for by angel investor money that will never be paid back. They’re making Ferraris, baby. No one looks like a hobo, either. They’re working on cars, and you’re working on pixels, and they look like they’re in an operating room and you look like you’re in your mom’s basement.

They’re making Ferraris, and you’re updating some sales weasel’s Facebook page for them. Look on them and weep.