Country Day School Douche-tacular

After a long Saturday of scrubbing comps (with occasional breaks to pwn n00bz on the Halo 3 beta) I left my apartment to go to my local cantina for a chicken quesadilla, a Sol with lime, and a Don Julio Anejo back. After a quick walk through the bleary Fairfield County weather, I reached the bar, took a seat, and started sipping my cervesa.

The calm before the quesadilla was broken by the scraping of chairs, raised voices, and high pitched giggles. I turned around to find 8 pairs of hot chicks with douchebags seated behind me, acting loud and obnoxious as douchebags are wont to be.

Now these weren't Lee Hotti douches. These guys were the I'm-from-fairfield-county-my-sense-of-entitlement-knows-no-bounds-stepped-out-of-a-j. crew/crombie-catalog-never-left-the frathouse douches. Think Sac from the Wedding Crashers. On top of this, i noticed that they all had name tags that read "County Day School Class of '97."

Now in the interests of full disclosure, i have to mention, that i went to a prep school in fairfield county, and i work in finance. Both of those automatically make me a bit of a douche. However, this qualifies me to comment on such douchiness, as we can smell our own.

Anyway, I decide to not let the baggers get in the way of my unwinding, when the Alpha Douche appears. Unlike his fellow bags, who are wearing golf shirts with popped collars, AD has arrived wearing a ratty t-shirt with underarm sweat stains and way too much cologne. I'm sorry, did i say cologne? I meant AXE body spray.

Since there is already an even hot chick to DB ratio in his group, the alpha douche, after proclaiming loudly to his boys "I'm a hockey player, i don't pick up chicks i bag them," stumbles to the bar and starts to unsuccessfully hit on the girl next to me.

Now the girl sitting next to me is incredibly cute and has shown up with a decent looking, but slightly nerdy guy. As a decent looking and slightly nerdy guy myself, I give the man props and feel for him as the AD starts to ruin his night. My chance to intervene comes when he says "What do you do? I work in investment backing?"

I wheel in my seat to face the AD and butt in, "Really? So do I. What firm?"
He mentions some little boutique trading shop that has no IBD.
I refrain from smirking as I go in for the kill. "So what do you do there?"
"Uh, I work with clients to make sure our trades clear."
"Oh ok, so you don't work in investment banking. You work in Ops at a brokerage that doesn't have an investment banking division. Thats too bad."
Embrassed, the alpha douche retreats to his pack with his tail between his legs. The nerdy guy gives me a nod of thanks, and i smile, knowing that my work here is done.

Swiss Blue Balls

It starts out innocently enough. Someone complains that the chairs are uncomfortable and it hurts to sit down for an extended period of time. Then their voices start to carry noticeable tension, as the discomfort grows and grows. Finally, they make their appearance, accompanied by furious bouts of pumping, leading to a climax of comfort and relief.

Blue Balls. Big Blue Swiss Balls.

One of my coworker's back problems lead to her purchasing a big blue swiss exercise ball to replace her chair. The next thing we knew was that the girl next to her had one too. Then one of the guys on the other side of the desk got one. The CA office is already over run with blue balls, and the innuendo out here is one punchline shy of a sexual harassment suit.

"Can you come over here and help me pump? Mine's so shriveled and soft"

I'm not even going to get into the discussions about PIPEs (Private Investment in Public Equity)

Overheard

"Mommy, did Santa move to China?"

"No, Santa lives at the North Pole."

"Then why do all my presents say 'made in China' on them?"

"Because some of Santa's elves are Chinese."

Even Santa outsources.

Happy Holidays.

Where are you dude?

There are times when i have serious doubts about working in finance. Or at least as a research analyst. The 12 hr days working on financial models and doing channel checks wears thin pretty quickly. Seriously, how many times can you call supermarkets in Ohio to check on material developments in the meat department before going insane?

"Can i speak with the meat department manager?"
"Do you have the XXXX meat grinder?"
"Do you like it?"
"how many pounds of meat do you grind a day."
"I'm the one asking the questions here."
"Hello? Hello?"

Repeat ad nauseam.

I think about my hipster friends who actually seem to enjoy what they do, despite the veneer of apathy and the confrontational streak anytime politics or music comes up in conversations. I think about the parties they went to on friday night as I work saturdays, excel searing my optic nerve. I think about it every time the traders leave at 4:30.

Than i remember that i have no debt, a 401k and some money to play with, and i feel a little better. I can wear made to measure and bespoke clothes, and scatter lesser yuppies with the blinding power of my Rolex. I can afford cable TV, my rent and xbox live. That makes me smile, especialy when i'm slaughtering people american psycho style on Gears of War.

It still doesn't change the fact i cry myself to sleep. At least i do it on piles of cash.