So That’s Why They Call Him Savage
Fun fact: When your work colleagues suggest Friday drinks in The Valley, the appropriate response is NOT “yes please immediately right now let’s go.”
Me
Going for work drinks in The Valley.
Megan
That’s his territory.
Me
I have no idea what you mean.
Megan
Sure, you don’t. Just like you have no idea why you’ve been “working late”.
Me
I hate that you use air quotes in text.
Megan
I hate that you’re this obvious.
Me
I’m being professional!
Megan
You googled “biker bars in The Valley” a hundred times.
Me
First of all, it was nine times, and I was conducting important geographical research for work purposes.
Megan
Work purposes?
Me
There could be a very legitimate reason why a senior developer needs to know the exact distribution pattern of motorcycle-friendly establishments in Brisbane’s nightlife district.
Megan
Name one.
Me
Cybersecurity? Listen, I don’t need this kind of targeted attack from someone who once created a PowerPoint presentation analysing her favourite actor’s arms.
This is where this all ended up: I was at this dive bar next to the Dirty Pleasures restaurant (which I may or may not have chosen because one of my 2 a.m. research spirals revealed it’s owned by a certain motorcycle club, and no, I’m not proud of how many databases I had to navigate to find that information).
And okay, fine, MAYBE I suggested this specific bar to my co-workers because it’s next door to said restaurant.
I was with the work crew, trying to explain to Karen from Accounting why my latest code review comment of “//TODO: Make this suck less” on Johnson’s disaster code was totally justified, while she attempted to calculate the statistical probability of me getting fired for “unprofessional feedback” (her latest spreadsheet includes a fascinating pie chart of “Ways Eden Might Lose Her Job” with “snarky code comments” taking up a concerning 36%).
Then, I heard it. That Harley rumble that my body now recognises faster than my own name.
(Mrs Primrose claims she’s started logging my “suspicious Pavlovian response to motorcycle sounds” in her dossier of building mysteries.
Yes, I heard that through the air vent. No, I’m not proud of my eavesdropping habits.)
Then, he walked in. Not alone. There was six of them, all leather jackets and don’t-fuck-with-me energy. And look, I’ve seen Savage around our building enough times now to think I had a handle on his whole...everything. But this was different. This was Savage in his natural habitat.
Me
CODE RED
Megan
He’s there??
Me
WITH SOME OF HIS CLUB
Megan
On a scale of 1-10 how dangerous do they look?
Me
YES
Megan
That’s not a number.
Me
NUMBERS HAVE NO MEANING ANYMORE
The entire energy of the bar shifted. You know that scene in nature documentaries where all the smaller animals suddenly go quiet because something bigger just walked in? Yeah. That.
“Holy shit,” Karen whispered, completely abandoning her statistical analysis of my potential firing. “Why didn’t you include THIS in your ‘completely random venue suggestion’ presentation? I’m creating a new tab called ‘Real Motivations: A Case Study in Hot Bikers.’”
Before I could pretend that I had no idea what she was talking about or admit that was my hot neighbour (neither seemed like a great option), everything went sideways.
Some drunk guy at the bar had been hassling one of the bartenders. He was the type of guy who thinks “no” is the start of a negotiation.
Savage intervened with, “Problem here, mate?”
Three words. Just three words, but they hit the room like a thunderclap. Look, I’ve been writing code for years, and I’ve never seen anything execute that efficiently.
Karen already had her phone out, probably to create a new spreadsheet titled “Voice Analysis: From Darlin’ to Deadly,” but I couldn’t pay attention because I was too busy watching the transformation.
Gone was my almond-milk-drinking neighbour who helps Mrs Primrose with her groceries.
In his place stood someone else. Someone who made the entire bar hold its breath.
Drunk Guy (turning around): “Mind your own fu?—”
And that was where his brilliant contribution to the evening ended. Because he turned, saw Savage (and friends), and literally stopped mid-word.
Me
MEGAN HE JUST
Megan
What??
Me
I CAN’T EVEN
Megan
USE YOUR WORDS
Me
THERE ARE NO WORDS
Megan
That bad?
Me
That GOOD
Megan
I’m calling Brad.
Me
DON’T YOU DARE
Here’s the thing about seeing someone go from “hot neighbour who drinks almond milk” to “man who could end your whole existence without blinking”—it does things to you.
Inconvenient things. Inappropriate-thoughts-in-front-of-co-workers things.
If The Wine Club had seen him, they would’ve upgraded their theory from “undercover romance novel research” to “definitely some kind of sexy vigilante situation.”
Savage didn’t raise his voice. Didn’t move. Just stood there, head slightly tilted, looking at the guy like he was deciding between various options, none of which ended well for Drunk Guy.
“Right,” said Drunk Guy, suddenly the most sober person in Brisbane. “I was just leaving.”
“Good choice.”
The bartender got a nod. Drunk Guy got an escort to the door (courtesy of Savage’s friends). And I got... that look . The “I know you’re watching me” look. The “yes, I just handled that without breaking a sweat” look. The “we’re still not finished” look.
I managed to turn back to my co-workers, who were all staring at me with their mouths open.
“So,” Karen said, “THIS explains why my spreadsheet showed you suggesting The Valley for drinks with a 96% higher enthusiasm rate than your usual ‘rather die than socialise’ response. Tell me, do all the bikers in Brisbane look like that, or did you have insider information about this particular specimen?”
I’m definitely never telling her anything ever again.
Current status : Hiding in the toilet updating this blog, taking a break from trying to explain to my colleagues that no, I don’t actually know Savage that well.
Which became significantly harder when he walked past our table ten minutes ago and said, “Evening, darlin’,” like he didn’t just remind everyone in a 5km radius why they call him Savage.
Me
HE CALLED ME DARLIN’ IN PUBLIC
Megan
In front of your coworkers??
Me
WHILE BEING SAVAGE
Megan
Capital S?
Me
ALL THE CAPITALS
Megan
That’s your entire office gossip sorted for the year. You’re going to need a new job.
Me
Already updating my LinkedIn.
UPDATE (12:12 a.m.): The bartender just sent our table a round of drinks. When I asked why, she just pointed to where Savage and his mates were sitting and said, “Protection perks.”
UPDATE (12:26 a.m.): Karen has started a spreadsheet titled “Reasons Why Our Dev Lead Should Date a Biker.” This is possibly the most unauthorised use of Excel in company history.
UPDATE (12:45 a.m.): Karen’s spreadsheet now includes a “Danger to Hotness Ratio” column with subcategories for:
- Protective instinct indicators
- Public intimidation efficiency
- Voice command effectiveness
- Leather jacket aesthetic impact
- “That Look” intensity metrics
P.S. To the guy who got escorted out: thanks for the show, I guess? But also, maybe don’t be that guy.
P.P.S. Is it wrong that watching someone handle a situation with terrifying efficiency is kind of hot? It’s wrong, right? I should probably talk to someone about that. Not Brad. Never Brad. I can already hear his “fascinating correlation between perceived danger and attraction” analysis.
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