I mean, sure. We’ve all fantasised about it from time to time: You get the call telling you you’ve won the lotto, you immediately stand up, tell the boss to kiss your butt, and walk out the door to live the rest of your days out in pure luxury.
“This has got to be a wind-up! Is this real? This is bloody unbelievable!”“Oh my god! Please mind my language but this is (expletive) awesome!”
[EDITOR’S NOTE: He probably said the fuck word.]
“You know what, I thought you were a telemarketer or something. This is a much better phone call than I could have ever expected!”
Before the phone call with Golden Casket had even ended, he’d apparently already told his boss where he could jam his job, and had begun saying SOIYA to his workmates.
“I’ve been a construction worker all my life but I’ll definitely hang up the tool belt now!”
“This better not be a wind-up since I’m saying goodbye to the blokes at work now, because I’m never coming back here!”
Historical evidence of prior lotto winners suggests that there’s a fair chance he might be back at some point, and the words “Gold Coast” and “tradie” certainly don’t do the statistical opposite any favours.