You wonder, and with good reason, why the fuck are you taking this shit from Frank fucking Johnson. Just tell him he’s a moron. Just do it. Yeah!
Why? Because you want Frank to be happy, not to raise too much fuss, compliment your modelling skills in front of Rupert so you get top bonus this year, which will ultimately bring you one top bonus closer to that magical tropical island you have been dreaming about all this time. Ah, that magical tropical island with crystal clear waters will be all yours by the time you make… lets do the maths:
Three years as analyst wont get you anywhere because rather than investing the fucking crazy money you earn, you’ll be spending it on a swish flat in the heart of SW3 and you’ll blow the bonuses on a combination of overprices overluxurious holidays where you’ll be so tired and sleeping most of the time that you won’t be able to enjoy, a Porsche Boxter the first year, which will be upgraded to a 911 (as no i-banker that takes himself seriously can be seen driving a Boxter really), which will then turn into the dream of a 911 turbo. In short, there’ll be nothing left.
Not to worry, associate here you come, where you’ll get a pay rise, sign on bonus and better pay, which will go into safekeeping for that 911 turbo upgrade.
Executive director here you come, you’ll get a moderate pay rise that will probably be enough to cover the increased congestion charge now that you have no choice but driving through the C zone from home on your way to work. Oh yeah, you drive to work. The tube is for analysts and lowly associates who don’t have the common sense to drive to work. And don’t forget the £10 a day parking charge as you’re still not quite senior enough to get your own parking space onsite.
Not to worry though, because all this is peanuts compared to the big payday, when you start being paid in stock. Equity sweet equity. Yeah! Director here you come. Fat paychecks in company stock that is increasing daily with the good fortune of the markets. You accumulate the dough and hey presto, after three years as you make managing director, you’ll be sitting on the equivalent of a downpayment for that sweet island in shares.
Yes! Wait till Frank fucking Johnson sees you then. You’ll be a BSD MD of the firm while he’ll still be lingering as a fucking principal of Kruelberg, hoping to make partner one sweet day. Eat my shorts Frank fucking Johnson are the thoughts you take with you to your desk, as you begin tapping into your excel spreadsheet, trying to figure out how his accounts reconcile, only with a big smile on your face.