There were three girls on the train trying to establish who among them had the shittiest job. Was it the sales assistant, the coffee shop girl or the Pizza Hut chick? While they were all equally mistreated by customers and The Management, Pizza Hut Chick won because she had to come home stinking of cheese and tomato.
GIRL #1: Anyway. Enough about work. Who’s coming to your 18th party?
GIRL #2: Dunno yet.
GIRL #3: Are you inviting Kelly?
G2: No WAY. She’s a bitch. She said I didn’t get into St Andrews [University] because I wasn’t middle class!
G1: That cow!
G3: Middle class? What you mean by that?
G2: You know, middle class.
G3: No I don’t know.
G2: Well you know, everyone has a class. There’s upper class, and below that is middle class, and below that is… what do you call the other one?
G1: Working class.
G3: Oh right. So how do you know which one you are?
G2: It depends on what your dad does. If he’s something like a labourer or taxi driver then you’re working class.
G3: Well. Then I’m working class.
G1: Me too! And proud of it!
G3: What are you if your Dad’s a doctor?
G1: Depends what sort of doctor. There’s different classes of medical professional.
G2: Yeah, like a brain surgeon would be upper class but a GP would be sorta… middle-upper.
