By Aikejay Almonsay

The life of a corporate drone seems like an endless stream of boredom and imposter syndrome. That is until one is snapped into consciousness during an early commute to the CBD from their inner-city shoe box.

“Eshay bah!” croaked a skinny bloke with shaved legs and a Nautica polo with the collar propped up. Young drone Mike Mikerson was brought to attention with this assault on his senses, surprised someone would utilise a scooter to traverse several train cars.

“F*ck, not again!” Mike muttered. He was hoping to have quick nap before getting to work and desperately trying to hit a 9.5 hour billables target. Alas, this would not be the case.

The frustration was obviously getting to Mike as he detailed to a groupchat of mates the frequent eshayisms that plagued Brisbane public transport.

“It happens every morning and I’m never ready for it. We’re all corporate stooges on our way to the modern day salt mines. I can’t be f*cked vicariously listening to chillinit through a counterfeit UE boom at 8.18am as I roll into Roma St.” Mike Mikerson (3 weeks PAE) ranted to his friends.

“I’d stand up to the bloke carrying on this morning, if not for him having a shank concealed in his bum bag … and being the Banking and Finance partner at my firm.”

A few laugh reacts from his mates flashed across Mike’s eyes as he realised he could do nothing. As always he’d just have to ignore the bloke and keep his eyes down to avoid suspicion that he had “…a f*ckin’ starin’ problem…” 

Contrary to the frequent exclamations by Brisbane’s greatest consumers of knock off and knocked-off Tommy Hilfiger and Ralph Lauren attire, all may not be eetswa bah.

Hopefully no more to come, ya og-day.