Dinosaur Dave

No one remembers when Dinosaur was hired, only that he came with the building.

He’s got gray hair, yellow teeth, and a deep mistrust of anything that plugs in.

He’s the guy who’ll tell you how things used to be built right, remind you how the old days were better, then smile as he grabs his phone and plays solitaire.

A man of several talents,  he can identify a bolt’s manufacturer by its ridges and diagnose an engine by the color of the exhaust smoke.

If you ask how he’s doing, he’ll grunt something that sounds like “livin’ the dream” and this will always feel like a cry for help.

If the place ever shuts down, Dave won’t retire.

He’ll just stand there, fossilizing into the break room.

 

Long Hair Dave

Half man, half loophole.

Long Hair Dave works maintenance, drives his own golf cart, and doesn’t slow down at stop signs.

He got the name for his hair, but the reputation for being the only guy in the company who doesn’t have to take the yearly drug test.

He’s got a mustache that could lead a protest and a way of talking that makes you feel like you’re the one breaking the rules.

No one knows how he still has a job.

Some say it’s union magic.

Others say he once fixed the boss’s boat and has been untouchable ever since.

Either way, he’ll be here long after the lights go out.

 

Short Hair Dave

Where Long Hair bends the rules, Short Hair enforces them, scribbling details down with one skeptical eye.

A veteran powered by caffeine, routine, and what’s left of his GI Bill, Short Hair runs on discipline and rage.

When the company ordered drug tests, he volunteered to go first,  had a cold, failed on NyQuil, and spent every meeting for 6 months explaining his side of the story.

No one asked.

But he’ll weld your broken desk chair without asking, then lecture you on American manufacturing while doing it.

A solid guy. Just don’t touch his thermos.

 

Mike Pajamas

Mike once worked a double, fell asleep in his car, and the name stuck.

That was ten years ago.

Today, he’s married now, a foreman, and drives a truck worth more than your house, but if someone yells “Pajamas!”, his head turns.

Because in the trades, your lowest moment becomes your permanent brand.

 

One-Glove Gary

Gary lost a glove once. One time and that was enough.

Now he’s One-Glove Gary, a chronic cheapskate who refuses to buy a replacement because “the company should provide it.”

He’d love to bring this matter to their attention, but he shows up high, tries not to draw attention to himself, yet misses how wearing one glove is exactly how you do that.

These days, he tells people he loves golf and explains that’s why he wears one, but his wrestling T-shirt betrays him.

 

Lunchbox Larry

Larry earned his name the day he declined to order out with the boys.

“I brought my lunch,” he said. And that was it.

Now he packs every day like he’s prepping for the apocalypse:
Three sandwiches, two energy drinks, and one carton of cigs all gone by 11 a.m.

By noon, he’s raiding the secretary’s candy bowl like a starving raccoon, feigning small talk the entire way.

At first, she hated it.

Now she just sighs and refills it, finding purpose in feeding the child she never had.

 

Quiet Tom

Tom’s been here fifteen years and has said maybe twelve words.

All weather-related.

He shows up before everyone, leaves after everyone, and carries the energy of a man who knows where the bodies are buried.

Once, someone caught him smiling.

Turned out he was sneezing.

 

Two-Speed Terry

He’s either bombastic or bedridden — no middle gear.

You’ll either see him taking care of the landscaping like he’s being chased by a bear, or being the perfect sacrifice to a hungry bear: nodding off, crumbs on his belly, sauce on his face.

Always.

Because he’s mastered both extremes, he’s now viewed as average, which doesn’t feel right.

 

New Guy Nick

Nick’s been the “new guy” for three years.

His crime?

Taking the job.

No one knows his last name, and it’s far too late to ask.

He once tried to correct someone who called him “New Guy,” but it only made it worse.

Now even management  calls him “New Guy.”

Four hires later, the name still sticks.

And somehow it fits.

Diva Donna

You see her nails first.

You hear the gossip second.

Because Diva Donna puts the color—and the commentary—into the blue collar.

She’s a big ball of energy who brightens up the workplace with sharp wit and loose lips.

If you want to know what’s going on behind the scenes, just ask her because she’s writing the scenes.

A friend of Big Tom, she’s the connective tissue that holds the office together, whether anyone wants it or not.

Big Tom

Big Tom is the boss and is big in every way a human can be big.

Tall, fat, and full of personality.

He’s got the presence of someone you wouldn’t want to meet in an alley, yet the heart of a guy who’d still help you move a couch,  if you paid him in whiskey.

He once called an intern “the potato” because “he just sits there,” his daughter is married to a musician whom he calls a “horn-fairy,” and that’s really all you gotta know about him.

You can usually find him looming large, being a thorn in HR’s side, and waging a one-man war against the white-collar crowd.

Who did I miss? Please like, comment, share, and tell me what you think. 

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