Posted Mon Dec 11, 2017 | 456 Words | Tagged story workie

He constantly tweeted about how much he hated his office job, how he was never getting anywhere and how “nobody” at his office seemed to like him. Moan, moan, moan.

That was until he appeared on a chat app looking for fun. Presumably he was getting fed up and wanted to blow off some steam. Well, I had some things I could pull. I could remove the cause of the hated job, but not the symptoms of complaining day in, day out. Well, that’s if he didn’t get used to it.

We met up in a bar later that evening and I paid for a couple pints for him. You could tell he was really trying to impress me, knocking back the beers only dirty workmen like myself would drink. The first gulp he was trying to keep his reflexes from throwing back up the bitter tasting drink, but he felt compelled to keep drinking.

The look on his face after we started chatted told it all, his deep desires. He got used to everything really quickly. I took him back to my place where he pretty much passed out. Such a lightweight. He’ll get used to it.

When he awoke in the morning, he found himself dressed in clothes of my choosing. He wore an orange hi-viz polo, orange hi-viz over trousers and steel toe capped boots. I told him we were getting ready for work and his hungover mind barely accepted it, especially with the offer of a fry-up for breakfast.

Later in the day on the site he got pretty angry. The pent-up aggressive behaviour I could tell was hiding in the shy lad. Was complaining about what he was put in. Nothing I could do, or want to do, the keys were at home and the boots had been padlocked on him and so had the rest of the gear.

I sorted all of the paperwork around him starting here. The office he used to work at were slightly concerned, but they seemed fairly happy to get rid of him.

Keeping an eye on what he was up to, was funny to see his mate’s reactions on Facebook when he was posting selfies saying “Another day wearing this shit”. They couldn’t really believe him, but this was his life now.

As the days went by, he got used to it. Even to the point where I could remove the locks entirely and the gear just felt like a second skin to him now and didn’t want to remove it. Of course, it was pretty grubby by now showing his hours of hard graft. After each shift he seemed to have a genuine smile, even once thanking me for releasing his inner workie.