Working life is hard, especially when your job is a commission-only role as an events rep at one of the various English holiday colonies in the dirty Med.
Luke Crunslaw, a 23-year-old Geordie, recently scored a sweet gig alpha-ing 19-year-olds on their first lads’ holiday into buying overpriced tickets, right in the heart of the infamous Zante Strip. But his dreams of shagging nines and doing lines all summer are in jeopardy thanks to the hilariously low commission on his event sales, and the fact that he is essentially a glorified panhandler.
“Oi lads, do you like tits?” he asked a group of hungover 18-year-olds on their way to a 3 pm breakfast at Burger King. He could almost taste the €1 commission and the dog food he could buy with it.
“Uh, yeah. I guess,” answered one of the lads.
“Well, there’s gonna be plenty of vag at the white shirt party tonight,” said Luke, waving a leaflet with a photoshopped picture of Margot Robbie on it.
Shocked at – but also titillated by – Luke’s casual misogyny, another spoke. “I don’t get it. Is it like a paint party where they mess up the shirts or …”
“Nah mate,” said Luke, frustrated. “You all get white shirts, and there’s a lot of hot birds who are totally up for a shag. Just €50.”
“I still don’t understand. Do we like sign the shirts or …”
“You can if you want. Do you want to fucking have a good time or not?” Luke said, using the classic charm he learned in a one day TUI sales induction.
“Dunno guys, didn’t those Leicester girls last night say they’re going to that full moon party?” interjected another one of the boys. The prospect of meeting girls who already might fancy them had cast a huge cloud over Luke’s white shirt thing. Luke was losing them. “Nah, we’re fine for now mate.”
“Right, fuck off then,” said the events rep. “Inbetweener dickheads. Didn’t want you coming anyway, virgins.”
Perplexed by Luke’s sudden aggression, the lads scuttled up the strip, avoiding eye contact all the way to the weird Greek knockoff of Nando’s.
Luke’s frustration quickly dissipated after spotting a group of Scouse lasses. “Oi girls,” he shouted, “you got your white shirt party tickets yet?”
More to come.