Local bloke Jordan Richardson has had a pretty shit day.

Not only has he had to contend with the barrage of angry emails from pissed off clients, but he’s also had to do damage control on a social media campaign gone awry, which has led to a firing,  a pissed off manager and a lot of office gossip.

When he’d taken the job of campaign coordinator straight out of uni, he’d had dreams of becoming a Don Draper type and spearheading the next Rhona and Ketut ad.

Unfortunately, Jordan has quickly learned that any role with the word ‘coordinator’ in it involves a stream of relentless grunt work, and having every good idea stolen by the higher up. And emails. So many fucking emails.

Had he known he would be doing the white-collar version of what he’d done at Woolies, Jordan might have opted for the trades instead of wasting a solid $20K on HECS. Or, maybe he’s just being a typical impatient millenial and simply needs to work his way up the ladder, so he can get paid the big bucks to tell other people how to answer emails.

It probably doesn’t help that he has to travel 45 mins to and from work and that his only means of transport is the shitty 345 route, which often has him seated next to people who play their music out loud or have boring conversations with their spouse –  without even a hint of a fight to spice the commute up a bit.

At least today’s travel home has a silver lining in the form of a free window seat, which means Jordan may be able to have a small kip before he lets his frustration out at the gym. Unfortunately, as he attempts to put the day behind him and squeeze in a quick nap, he’s thwarted by the loud thumps of the bus wheel, which shake the windowpane so hard he feels his brain rattling around in his skull.

Grumbling as he stubbornly stays put, Jordan can only hope that one of the bumps knocks him the fuck out and he can enjoy a few minutes of much needed rest.

More to come.


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