Imagine how our conversations at work in this era translate to the Paleolithic era:
"Hey, Torg, another Monday, huh? Hey, did you see the spear-throwing playoffs yesterday?"
"Nahhhh....the wife needed me to help her hang some mammoth hide curtains over the front of our cave. I mean, what am I gonna say? It looks nice, it doesn't look nice...whadda I care? I just wanted to go watch the playoffs. Oh, well, whaddaya gonna do? If she ain't happy, we ain't happy."
"Yeah...., hey, so Grok is our new hunt leader. Thol just promoted him. How about that?"
"Yeah, how about that, great. It figures, the little brownnoser. 'Oh, Thol, those new mammoth hide boots you're wearing look great on you! Oh, Thol, that new spear you made is awesome!' BARF!! See, that's what I mean! The little brat sucks up and gets promoted. He's been hunting, what, two years now? Whatve we got, we been out there 6 years now! Don't see us leading hunts. For Nature Spirits' sake, Grok doesn't know enough to pour pee out of his own moccasin if there were cave paintings on the heel showing how. I think I'm going to call in sick tomorrow, maybe grab some fishing spears and go down to the lake. Wanna come?"
"I wish I could, but I can't afford to miss that deer hunt. I need the pelt to trade for this mammoth ivory necklace my wife has her eye on. Yeah, you know the one that the shaman has sitting on the trade pelt. Like you said, if she ain't happy, we ain't happy."
"Yeah, well, whaddya gonna do? Let's go ahead and show our faces before Ol' Brownnose docks us a couple pounds of meat for being late for the hunt..."