The kid seemed to think it'd be some sort of hobby, that he could come for awhile and feel what it meant to be a real worker. He wouldn't be there more than six months, a year at the most, but they were short on labor and the kid was plenty polite even if overdressed.
He doubted the kid would fit in. He wouldn't be an outright snob, rather, one of those types who try so hard not to come off like a snob, but couldn't help it. Or maybe he wouldn't even try to fit in, he'd just keep to himself and read his books and take his notes.
It was a surprise the kid smoked. And he wasn't faking. Like, he had the yellow fingers and breathed like a smoker. He figured probably the kid was an artist or something and artists usually smoked. But he smoked more than the other guys even, usually had two during one break.
The kid was hopeless with the machines, though. When the truck needed oil, he looked around like someone was going to do it for him. He did watch and take notes and he did it on his own the next time without anyone needing to check on him. Seemed he even must've Googled about the fan belts, because there was no problem swapping them out.
Over lunch the kid talked sports and he knew his baseball. Someone suggested they go see the local team and they made plans for the weekend. At the game, they drank more than they should've considering they'd all be driving after, but they all warmed to the kid. Helped that he didn't say a whole lot.
He'd be off before too long, surely. Off to better places and better people. Or maybe the kid didn't know either.