These days Australia has more lawyers than you’d find in O.J’s living room after receiving the consolation prize of an exquisite set of steak knives after being evicted from a dating game show.
Most Unis pump out graduates without any regard for the fact the market needs them like George Calombaris needs another Fair Work investigation.
After their 5 year degrees, the graduates scramble like desperate baby turtles trying to get to the ocean of opportunity. The connected ones swim while most just get savagely pecked at by the grim reality they spent $45K to be unemployed.
Not James though, he is instantly plucked from the primordial graduate goo and put to work at a family friend’s firm for just above minimum wage. Within a year, he had come to view himself as a Herculean Superman of sorts. His superpower? Bringing up his profession faster than a speeding bullet.
The first line in his Tinder profile is naturally, “lawyer”, although, “restricted practitioner that spends his day having his work corrected and photocopying shit like he was a middle-aged divorcee with a lost cat” would fit a lot better.
He matches with a receptionist for a mining company, which he and his toilet posse of law grad Malcolm Turdbulls find riotous, “ha! Better wear 2 condoms don’t want to catch working class mate”. Despite her inferiority, he agrees to go on a date at a pretentious CBD bar with her.
Now he is precisely the sort of shit-stain to order a scotch on the rocks at 24 years old he does just that and walks over to his date and her mates, “hey everyone this is James”.
What the fuck, it’s been 1 minute and no one has asked him what he does for a living. Do these duplex-dwelling D-munchers not recognise his $799 suit and entry-level Longines watch?
He interrupts the conversation, “tremendous story there bud, reminds me of a client I had”. Fuck here he goes. One of the friends takes the bait, “oh right, what do you do mate?” He gives his date an “I can't believe you didn’t tell them” stare and adjusts his cuff-links.
In preparation for the climax, he grips his glass firmly, “I’m a... *pauses dramatically* lawyer”. Internally his ego is cumming so hard that if externalised the room would look like a painter’s overalls. All he gets is return is a “cool”.
The nonchalance sends James into a spiral of shitcuntery; he begins handing out his business card to everyone at the table. “Yeh never lost a case (never done a case) so give me a buzz if you need any help, and I’ll pencil you in”.
Jesus mate, this isn’t a Linkedin funded corporate circle jerk. Your business card is about as useful as a bar of soap in South Fremantle.
He turns to his date, “let's get out of here, have you ever been to Subiaco? I have a townhouse; I can show you my ties”. She instantly dries up like the landscape in a World Vision ad.
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