The Traffic Controller

As a boy Kevo used to look up at signposts and think to himself, “I could do that”, now 33 years later he has landed the holy grail of jobs. A job holier than a British boxer’s smile. He was now a bonafide traffic controller.

He thought he could just waltz in, but the journey of a thousand roadside smokos on an old crate starts with a shit-tonne of safety cards and accreditations programs. Farken hell, this was like his year 10 exams all over again.

Despite the challenging academic component he persevered as he had heard about the legendary wages and was keen to grip the udders of the cash cow as tight as his trusty sign and milk it for all it was worth.

Unfortunately for Kevo, it turns out they don’t pay you $180k a year to stand around doing fuckall on Great Eastern Highway. Turns out he would only be racking in like $100k like some kind of bottom-feeding peasant.

To make matters worse, he didn’t realise the hardness rating on the job’s yakka. His wrist got worked like he was pulling double shifts at a Bangkok massage parlour.

He was putting away more cones than an unemployed surfer, and it turns out that standing in the sun all day gives you a nasty case of the hot ‘n bothereds.

All these factors contributed to an unsolicited display of MMA when Kevo took offence to a driver’s actions, and like a Hi-Vis Hercules, he javelined his sign through the rear windshield.

He then power-waddled to the ensuing fracas while pointing vehemently at his sign, “oi dog, are you a Bayswater truck droooooiver or someshit? Can’t you read the farken sign?”

Turns out the gentlemen shared a contrary view of what the subjective term “slow” meant.

Although, speed certainly wasn’t a problem when it came to Kevo’s right hook, which floored the driver and ultimately leads to some “disciplinary action”.

Having had his position terminated Kevo took his fight to the highest Court in the land: a Perth whinge page to argue with cretins about how difficult his job is and how “snowflakes” wouldn’t last a day.

Well, they might mate, if they could just refrain from punching someone on the side of the head.

Oh well, turns out he knows a guy in his Crypto investors club who knows a guy who might know a guy who “reckons” there are jobs going on the mines.

He’ll be racking in $200K+ up there and won’t have the temptation to left, right goodnight an Audi driver.

It’s all swings and cuntabouts in the playground of traffic control.

Documenting the Human Zoo is thirsty work, so if you enjoyed what you read how about buying Belle a beer, ay?