by Christian Coulthard

Diana, who has spent the majority of her University life trying to get her foot in the door, is now stuck and cannot seem to remove it.

“Yeah, it’s a little ironic isn’t it”, she sweated, between bouts of swearing and trying to yank her sore hoof out. “Fuck, it’s really wedged in there!”

After grinding through hospo, retail and volunteering, Diana had finally scored a cushy law job in a small conveyancing team, only to have been absolutely horrified with the reality.

“Where do I start? I’m jammed in like a sardine on the train commute. There’s a social club that take 4 bucks a week out of my pay. Tomorrow I have to chip in for a birthday gift for Susan, someone I’ve never interacted with. They get excited about wearing jeans on Friday. Everyone has stale moccona breath and back problems. Sometimes I have to take a shit in the cubicle next to my supervising partner. There’s a permanent nest of cockroaches under the kitchenette.”

“I just want to go back to hospo, where at least I could enjoy a few free knock offs after a shift”, she moaned, pulling on her now profusely bleeding leg.

A moment later, a partner walked around the corner to see Diana in her dishevelled and painful state. “Haha, looks like you’ve got your foot in the door now!” he laughed, heartily.

“Not to worry youngblood” he smiled. “We’re like a family here.”

Diana turned to our reporter with a look of pleading, and let out a primal, mournful scream.

Nothing more to come (probably).