> ## Content Index > Fetch the complete content index at: https://martinsmithstories.ghost.io/llms.txt > Use this file to discover other available public pages before exploring further. # Day Job - URL: https://martinsmithstories.ghost.io/day-job/ - Published: 2026-05-03T03:22:00.000Z - Updated: 2026-09-12T20:54:22.000Z - Description: A loyal subject finds completing one Sisyphean task often leads to another. - Author: Martin Smith - Tags: Book 5: All Hail the King! At first, his day job had been a ball, but, now, he had to admit it was killing him. A FIFO job that was all FI and SFA-FO. Menial, repetitive, laborious. He was stuck in a career rut for what had felt like aeons. Sure, his KPIs were clear and the remuneration was handsome, but, alas, he had a back-ended, performance-based contract with a threat-of-death caveat if he quit. All he could do each day was put his “shoulder to the boulder” and “push on” in an “endlessly uphill battle”. As he slowly made his way up the steep hill that was his living hell, he came upon a sign blocking the path ahead: *Pathworks. Temporary Closure. Please take detour.* *Shit!* he thought. *Yet another obstacle to ruin my day!* He turned his burden to point towards the detour path, fearful the path would make the completion of his task even more impossible. But—what joy!—the path was of a gentle inclination, and he soon summited and completed his task. KPI! Met! Now he could return home at last and settle down to a simple, quiet, peaceful—and rich—life with his good wife. But first, he needed to pick up a little something. \*\*\* ‘Where the hell have you been?!’ his wife screeched as he entered their house whilst carrying a gourd of goat’s milk. ‘You’ve been gone for ages!’ ‘Getting milk, like you asked,’ he said, having forgotten how loud and irritating her voice was and how it jangled his nerves. ‘I got distracted. My king called upon me to complete a Herculean task on his behalf.’ *Boy!* he thought. *I can't believe how wrinkly and grey and chin-haired she's become in my absence. And the house is a dump. There’s shit everywhere!* ‘What king?’ ‘My namesake. King Sisyphus of Ephyra.’ ‘There’s no king, you silly little man. Nor a kingdom. We’re a republic now. The Democratic Republic of Corinth.’ ‘But he promised me I’d inherit his kingdom.’ ‘You’ve been duped, you fool. Again! When will you ever learn?’ ‘Damn! In that case, I’ll just have a quick shit, shave, shower and shampoo, and change clothes, then catch up with the lads at the inn.’ ‘What lads?’ ‘My mates.’ ‘You’ve not a friend in the world. They’re all languishing in Hades.’ ‘What? They’re dead?’ ‘Yes. And umpteen generations of our descendants. Get with the times, old man!’ ‘Am I dead?’ ‘Not yet. Nor me.’ ‘How old are you?’ ‘You should know better than to ask a girl her age.’ ‘If I’ve no friends, then I’ll skip the inn and head straight to bed. I’m a tad exhausted after all my exertion. Say, care to join me?’ ‘No time for that nonsense! Here’s your list!’ ‘List? List of what?’ ‘The chores you neglected whilst “out getting the milk”. Get cracking, *Hercules*!’ ‘What chores?’ ‘Lawn scything, cart washing, stable sweeping, toilet scrubbing and, for Zeus’s sake, burn those rags hanging off you. And that’s just the start. Tomorrow, you’ve got the kids. All one hundred and twenty-two of them. I’m off for a little pampering. I deserve it after all these millennia.’ ‘What kids?’ ‘Your distant descendants. You’ve got them for the *whole* day. Then you’ve got *me* for the rest of our lives. Won’t that be *fun*?!’ \*\*\* Sisyphus woke pre-dawn, silently slipped from his shared bed and tip-toed toward the bedroom door. ‘Where the hell do you think *you’re* going?!’ ‘Sssh. Go back to sleep. I’m just nipping out to get some milk.’ And as he set off in a rush towards his steep hill, he raised his head and invoked the gods that the pathworks had been completed and that Zeus would allow him to reclaim his day job. ---