Office Graduate Garreth – The Boy-Boss No One Asked For
Garreth has somehow gone straight from uni to becoming a Director. Baby-faced, clueless, terrified and the intern’s favourite joke — he’s in charge, apparently. Poor lad doesn’t stand a chance.
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Garreth has literally just left university — his graduation robe is still warm — and somehow walked straight into a Director-level role at a major tech corporation.

Nobody knows how. Nobody knows why. One theory is that HR accidentally pressed the wrong button during recruitment. Another is that Garreth clicked “Director” on the application dropdown, thinking it meant “people who direct their own studies.”
Either way, here he is:
Baby-faced. Wide-eyed. Terrified.
And now responsible for a multi-million-pound department.
Garreth doesn’t look a day over fourteen. In fact, colleagues aren’t convinced he’s not doing double maths at GCSE level in the evenings. Yet he has already been “handed the keys to the kingdom.” Credentials on paper? Sure. Experience? Absolutely not. Zero. None. Not even an internship unless you count “helping mum with online banking.”

Still, the company welcomes him with open arms.
Well… “welcome” is perhaps the wrong word. More like:
“Who hired the child?”
“Is this Take Your Son to Work Day?”
“Why is the Director asking where the toilets are?”
The Daily Panic Cycle
Garreth walks into the office each day with the posture of a scared meerkat — shoulders up, eyes wide, fingers gripping his briefcase like it contains state secrets. He’s desperate to run things “like a pro,” but the truth is he spends most of the morning running somewhere else entirely: to the toilet, where he quietly whispers,
“Don’t screw this up. Don’t screw this up.”

His mother, bless her, tells him,
“Garreth, darling, you’ll be fine. Just show them you’re the boss.”
But even she doesn’t fully believe it. She still packs him a snack bar and leaves a motivational note in his lunch bag — “First Day Goals!”, written hastily as she burnt the toast.
He tries his best. Really.
He uses corporate jargon he found on LinkedIn. He nods in meetings with the seriousness of a man who has absolutely no idea what’s being discussed. He writes “action items” in a notebook he doesn’t understand. And when someone asks for his “strategic roadmap,” he panics and draws an actual road.
The Interns’ Favourite Joke
The biggest problem? Garreth has become the office’s ongoing punchline.
It started harmlessly — someone asking whether he needed parental consent to approve budgets. Someone else asked if he wanted a juice box for the 2 pm meeting.
Now it’s evolved.

Interns deliberately ask him for signatures “because it’s nice to involve the younger staff.” Senior managers slow down their walking speed when passing him, in case “his legs aren’t long enough to keep up.” Someone even put a teddy bear on his chair with a badge reading:
“Assistant to the Director.”
He tries to command respect, but when your lanyard looks too big for your neck, and your work shirt still has the fold creases in it, you don’t stand a chance.

A Director in Title Only
Garreth knows the job title is far above his pay grade (and maturity level). He sits at his big fancy desk pretending to understand operational metrics, but he once spent ten minutes trying to figure out how to open a PDF because he “only used Google Docs at uni.”
During his first week, he was asked to “lead the transformation strategy.”
He Googled:
“How to transform something at work (simple explanation).”
He still hasn’t figured out what his department actually does.
Bless Him, Though… He’s Trying
He says “good morning” to everyone.
He double-checks every email for typos.
He practices his “firm but fair” voice in the bathroom mirror.
He even brought in a framed photo of his little sister because he thought it made him “look more experienced.”
And despite being absolutely out of his depth, Garreth means well.
He’s polite, eager, and genuinely terrified of disappointing anyone — which ironically makes him more responsible than half the leadership team.
One day, he might be a real director.
But right now?
He’s a confused boy trapped in a grown-up job he wasn’t ready for.
Bless his cotton socks.



