ERROL PARKER | Editor-at-large | Contact

A client’s Christmas Party last night and a vomit on the bus this morning, Jenny Rutland is living life in the fast lane.

Friends of the 26-year-old told her she’d be better off calling in sick, that there’s no dishonour in admitting defeat to the Silly Season.

But the happiness of her clients is paramount.

Which is why today she’s soldiering on through the pain and nausea to sit at her desk and appear to be productive.

After lunch, when the lack of sleep and food were really beginning to take their toll on Jen, she carefully made her way to the office kitchenette to raid the first aid kit – searching fruitlessly for some pain relief.

“Fuck!” she said softly.

“Somebody’s beat me to it! The box is empty. Fucks sake, there’s only band-aids and gauses in here. Even the scissors are missing,”

“God damn, I feel sick.”

However, the resourceful Leo explained to her manager that she needed to duck outside for a minute, stretch her legs et al.

He smiled, nodded and went back to doing fucking nothing.

Jenny made her way downstairs onto Mulholland Street near the corner of Vampire Boulevard and limped up the footpath to Caltex.

The airconditioning’s cool bite on her cheeks was delightful but one thing that wasn’t, according to Rutland, was the price of a 1L bottle of generic spring water and a 24 pack of pain pingers.

“Fuck me roan!” she said.

“$13? Are you fucking kidding me? Jesus fucking wept, mate. I might as well get a pie as well!”

The cashier explained the total plus the pie would be $20 and Jenny sighed and tapped her Visa debit card on the thing and walked out.

Initial reports have suggested that the pie was divine.

More to come.




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