Home Stretch

I'm what the over-hyped, over-quaffed, over-confident traders and I-bankers call a "back office bitch." This statement is supposed to make me feel like less of a human being, and pity my poor standing in life. If I wanted that life I would be living it, but for me a nice bottle of wine and a good movie from netflix does more for me then any night on the town. Not that I look down on those that need to be validated by hulking doormen and coke addicted list girls that stand watch at the door of the fine establishments that foul this fine city. Sometimes I think that I missed the boat being born in the early eighties, I read stories about Danceteria and Pyramid and think it would be nice to find an unpretentious place to dance and drink without worry that my shoes are "so last season."

I deal with the banking "big shots" on a daily basis, I never cow-tow and never, ever flirt. So many of my type (ie back office girls) do, hoping perhaps that they too can join in the luxury and excess. Doing coke in the bathroom of some trendy nightspot, while the bathroom attendant knocks on the door threatening to call security, is not my idea of a good time. I do not squeeze myself into form fitting clothing, painful shoes and hand-bags so tiny that I have to leave my mace at home. I hear these captains of finance discussing their weekend plans at sorted nightspots with "easy bitches" and bottle service, and it validates my reason to stay far away from these people and those places.

Before I became corporate I bartended to pay my way through school. I had no choice but to wear the tight clothes and smile at the various assholes begging me for vodkaredbull (it must be said in one word to sound authentic) and my phone number. As soon as the lights came on and the bouncers cleared house, I would stare and the gummy, sticky, grimy filth that covered the surfaces and shudder at all the girls who could no longer stand in their stillettos, opting to dance barefoot in the club sewage. There were the girls who danced on the bar, shaking their asses in my face and bending over to show the world their panties (or sometimes lack there of.) There were the ones who engaged in mock lesbianism crying out for all those in attendance to look at them, attention can be a dangerously addictive habit, and others who gave blow jobs in the bathroom in exchange for a pass to VIP. I would wait for the night to end, and use a biore towlette to wipe the layers of makeup off my face, tie my hair up and put my glasses on to count my tips. I would walk out, escorted by a bouncer to a cab, inconspicuous to anyone who may have seen me inside. I would go home and wash the night off me, I refused to sleep smelling like an apple martini.

This glorified lifestyle that NYC has become so centered on holds no allure for me. Once you have seen how the magician performs his trick, the magic is gone and you truly understand what an illusion it is.

Full Circle

So I was fired from the last place. I hear they're having financial issues now, something about over spending and bad accounting. Hmmmm, they certainly weren't blowing all that money on my salary. Maybe it was the don't ask, don't review and just pay expense reimbursement program that the "important" people so heavily abused. Who cares moving on. They were small fish in large pond, clinging to a bigger fish so they could seem imposing. They denied my unemployment, they claimed I was fired due to excessive mistakes and for lying to the company about my background. Fuckers!!

I'm back in finance, sure it's not my life's dream to work with numbers but the pay is good, the structure sturdy and very few people are rewarded for bi-polar like mania well disguised as "creative process." It's a much smaller company, where everyone knows your name (like Cheers, except there's no booze and no Ted Danson, I've checked and he's no where to be found.) I like my boss, I'm not an admin anymore, life is good.....

Well you know that couldn't last, we've been acquired by a large foreign bank, (not the place of my last financial employment) and the CFO of said company is..... My old boss from the last bank.

I can't win, I'm not going to struggle, I'm just going to walk down to HR and make sure he can't transfer me into his department. I'll keep you updated as new information is revealed to me.