It's a tick before 3AM, the i-banker standard switchoff time. A common misconception in the outside world is that i-bankers are like the Energizer bunny - they just keep going and going and goin. Well, unlike the energizer bunny who eventually gives up and gets a recharge, an i-banker (naturally this is solely the privilege of those sould working for a reputable first tier institution) does not have that luxury. You've heard the story many times over, where the cabbie, barman or just one of your mates says:"So what's the big deal with all nighters anyway. Why are you whining all the time. I pulled one once and ok, the next day i was a little tired and had to go to bed at 6PM but then it was fine."
Exactly. Once being the key word here. Who the fuck are they to lecture me on all nighters, you think to yourself.
The reasom why you are afforded the luxury of replaying these frustrating conversations in your head is the 3AM switchoff. What is it? Once you start ritualistically going to bed at 5Am and coming to work at 9 (AM and the same day mate), your body isn't very happy. Your eyes start to see double, your hair starts to fall out and turn gray, and the only part of your anatomy that seems to be having a good time is your stomach, which baloons out of your suit pants (even after you adjust them at the waist for maximum leeway). Anyway. 3AM, and you need powernap. if you're really hardcore, you fuck the nap and go out for a smoke or three. It is on your second cigarette, with Rob and an associate called Frank that you lose it.
"Fuckedy, fuck fuck fuck fuck"
You blurt out as you start swirling around in front of the reception, like a madman trying to do a Singing in the Rain act.
"Why me, why the fuck does it have to always happen to me"
"And my model. A little reff* here, a little reff there a lotta reffetty fucking reff every fucking where"
"Sign the fucking line they said. Sign the fucking dotted fucking line they said. The world is your oyster they said"
"Well I'm fucking alergic to fucking oysters"
"I'm alergic to fucking clients"
"I'm alergic to fucking MDs"
"And i'm particulary alergic to wiseass fucking dipshit associates who cant tell their ass from their fucking elbow and cant count for fucking diddley squat and have the fucking nerve to fucking tell me what the fuck I'm fucking meant to do"
"Fucking thir tier recriuted asshole. What the fuck kind of headhunter did we hire to get a pice of shit like that. One fucking thing is for sure. I'd give good money to get the best headhunter in the city and find him another job."
You takle a puff at your cigarette.
"And even that won't fly, cause there aint a headhuntef good enough to get that piece of shit a job even in a fourth tier continental commercial bank"
Final puff, toss the bud, and back to work.
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*Reff, in short, is when your excel model gets fucked and takes you with it.
3 comments:
Man, you need to get yourself another job pronto. There's no amount of money that can compensate for that kind of 24-7-work-routine shit. One day you'll realise that your youth is gone and that you haven't enjoyed it enough and you will not be able to do shit about that. Time is a non-renewable commodity...get the fuck out ibanking before it's to late!
you are good. i like it.
it doesnt necessarily have to reff to give you a hard time...
arent we all living the faking dream?
you should try the army where all-nighters become the norm. sleep is for the dead. nod off and you might find yourself asleep forever.
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