prime concern is to attract clients and bring fees into the bank. That’s why they’re
paid the big bucks. Imagine a handsomegentleman in a twenty-five-hundred-dollar suit. He’s neatly shaven, nicely manicured, and his shoes cost more than most people’s
living room furniture. That’s the managing director.
The senior vice presidents are the next level down in the pyramid. At some banks they’re called junior managing directors,
but their role is the same. They attempt to bring in some business in order to justify their high-paid existence, but much
of the time they simply process the deals. They inherit the business from the managing directors and with their team they
process the hell out of it. They make sure that whatever deal was promised to the company is done quickly. Sometimes they
even make sure it’s done correctly. All the t’s are crossed and all the i’s are dotted. They are so close to the brass ring
that they can taste it. Imagine a used-car salesman wearing a polyester leisure suit. Maybe he hasn’t shaved for a couple
of days and he’s starting to smell a little gamey. That’s the senior vice president.
Next come the vice presidents. The vice presidents are a crew of processing robots, few with any life outside the office.
The vice presidents are making roughly half a million bucks a year, but they don’t have any time to spend it. When and if
they do get out of the office, they sleep. This turns them into a hapless bunch of angry young men and women who can’t understand
why they’re so frustrated. They want to have relationships and become functioning members of the human race, like their friends
outside of the investment banking realm, but they don’t have the time. Usually, the only dates they can get are with the gold
diggers who want to get their claws into a piece of that healthy paycheck. The nice boys andgirls in the city, the ones that the vice presidents wish they were dating, are busy screwing the unemployed artists and musicians
who have no money but plenty of time.
The vice presidents are making too much money to change careers because no other organization, with the exception of another
investment bank, will hire a vice president and pay him half a million dollars a year to process deals. The vice presidents
don’t really take any financial risks. If they’re willing to shamelessly kiss every upper-level ass they see and run around
all night churning documents, they know that they’ll continue to get a fat paycheck. The problem is that the vice presidents
are making all this money, but they’re not content. They’re a miserable crew because they’re trapped. Like caged animals.
Imagine a prisoner of war kept shackled in a moldy basement for five years with no light, nothing but shoe leather to eat,
absolutely no bathing privileges, and occasional doses of electroshock therapy. That’s the vice president.
At the next level in the pyramid are the associates. Lots of them. The associates’ lives suck. The vice presidents take out
their aggressions on the associates all day and all night. It doesn’t end until the associate either becomes a vice president,
leaves, or commits suicide. The associate kisses the vice president’s ass because the vice president helps determine the associate’s
bonus. Here’s how it works: the managing director says “Jump” and the senior vice president says “How high?” The senior vice
president then perpetuates the panic attack by sending a voice mail that conveys a false sense of urgency to the vice president.
He basically kicks the dog. The vice presidentlooks at the associate, takes a hot poker, and shoves it up the dog’s ass. The associates are barely human but at times are
brought to client meetings and are expected to act human. The associates are the Cro-Magnon men. They live in caves, have
trouble walking upright, and have a lot of hair on their backs. Usually, they
paid the big bucks. Imagine a handsomegentleman in a twenty-five-hundred-dollar suit. He’s neatly shaven, nicely manicured, and his shoes cost more than most people’s
living room furniture. That’s the managing director.
The senior vice presidents are the next level down in the pyramid. At some banks they’re called junior managing directors,
but their role is the same. They attempt to bring in some business in order to justify their high-paid existence, but much
of the time they simply process the deals. They inherit the business from the managing directors and with their team they
process the hell out of it. They make sure that whatever deal was promised to the company is done quickly. Sometimes they
even make sure it’s done correctly. All the t’s are crossed and all the i’s are dotted. They are so close to the brass ring
that they can taste it. Imagine a used-car salesman wearing a polyester leisure suit. Maybe he hasn’t shaved for a couple
of days and he’s starting to smell a little gamey. That’s the senior vice president.
Next come the vice presidents. The vice presidents are a crew of processing robots, few with any life outside the office.
The vice presidents are making roughly half a million bucks a year, but they don’t have any time to spend it. When and if
they do get out of the office, they sleep. This turns them into a hapless bunch of angry young men and women who can’t understand
why they’re so frustrated. They want to have relationships and become functioning members of the human race, like their friends
outside of the investment banking realm, but they don’t have the time. Usually, the only dates they can get are with the gold
diggers who want to get their claws into a piece of that healthy paycheck. The nice boys andgirls in the city, the ones that the vice presidents wish they were dating, are busy screwing the unemployed artists and musicians
who have no money but plenty of time.
The vice presidents are making too much money to change careers because no other organization, with the exception of another
investment bank, will hire a vice president and pay him half a million dollars a year to process deals. The vice presidents
don’t really take any financial risks. If they’re willing to shamelessly kiss every upper-level ass they see and run around
all night churning documents, they know that they’ll continue to get a fat paycheck. The problem is that the vice presidents
are making all this money, but they’re not content. They’re a miserable crew because they’re trapped. Like caged animals.
Imagine a prisoner of war kept shackled in a moldy basement for five years with no light, nothing but shoe leather to eat,
absolutely no bathing privileges, and occasional doses of electroshock therapy. That’s the vice president.
At the next level in the pyramid are the associates. Lots of them. The associates’ lives suck. The vice presidents take out
their aggressions on the associates all day and all night. It doesn’t end until the associate either becomes a vice president,
leaves, or commits suicide. The associate kisses the vice president’s ass because the vice president helps determine the associate’s
bonus. Here’s how it works: the managing director says “Jump” and the senior vice president says “How high?” The senior vice
president then perpetuates the panic attack by sending a voice mail that conveys a false sense of urgency to the vice president.
He basically kicks the dog. The vice presidentlooks at the associate, takes a hot poker, and shoves it up the dog’s ass. The associates are barely human but at times are
brought to client meetings and are expected to act human. The associates are the Cro-Magnon men. They live in caves, have
trouble walking upright, and have a lot of hair on their backs. Usually, they
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