By Christian Coulthard

Circa December 2021, Max Sweathead (pronounced: “Sweat-Head”), rolling into the big 6 (+2?) firm’s office like people could remember his name, reckoned his 3-week clerkship was going swimmingly. He hadn’t been given much work for some reason but he wasn’t too worried at all. What Max lacked in grades, workplace know-how and personality, he made up for in style. He reckoned the 150 dollar three-piece Tarocash suit from his Year 12 formal would win over the stone cold hearts and brilliant legal minds of the firm.

“Yeah nah, it’s all about how you look isn’t it?” he said. “I know the others in the office have taken off their jackets but if I keep this on it really shows that I care.”

“You know what they say, ‘You dress for the job you want not the one you have’.” he laughed, with an irritating smile.

Adam, a solicitor in his practice group, didn’t seem to agree.

“I’ve had to sit next to that sweaty f*ckwit every day for the past two weeks.” he said. “He smells like my gooch after a game of social touch. Honestly, its f*cking ridiculous that our corporate overlords make us blokes wear shirts and trousers in this heat and in strolls this guy with a 3-piece that his Mum bought him. A fucking 3-piece. Does he think he’s Mr Monopoly man?”

The wet rat wiped his forehead with his pocket square and laughed at the suggestion of taking off a layer of clothing, while waiting for a half-price coffee. “Nah mate, wouldn’t dream of it!” he exclaimed, soggily.

“It’s a clerkship, I’ve got to make a good impression. That’s why I’m suited up and I’ve been staying till 7 every night. I think me and my supervising partner have a good thing going. We’ve really been building rapport and I can tell he respects me.”

Our reporter fled the scene after Max lifted one of his underarms. The George Street Journal requested comment from Max’s supervising partner, who only responded with “Who?”

Maybe Max should have thought about a clerkship in the winter break…