In addition to honing my skills as a creep, snob and all around weirdo detector (seriously if you've got a borderline questionable male in mind I can identify them... I should charge for this service, I'm just that good) my friends have nominated me as the number one litmus test for identifying all banker-types in the New York area.
It's not something I'm proud of, much less is it intentional, but it seems I have an uncanny knack for identifying the single ibanker in a room full of similarly dressed and styled twenty-something professionals. The amusing part of this ability? I'm oft completely unaware of said gentleman's background until mid-conversation. I know, I know you're thinking ‘what are the odds? Aren't there like 200,000 of these types in your age group on the isle of Manhattan?’ Buzz off. I could walk up to someone in a clown suit selling hotdogs on Delancy at noon on a Wednesday and they'd turn out to be of the financial services persuasion... it's a curse.
This particular proto-type are a dime a dozen in this city and I've learned to avoid guys with tell tale signs such as:
- popped collars
- polished lines that probably originated in a lemon lot if not a Will Ferrell youtube spot
- a certain swagger that only an overpaid coffee runner can master
None-the-less, call it All American charm, but I seem to find myself meeting more of these 'gentlemen' than HR Department at Lehman Brothers.
So fast-forward to last Friday. My college friends, who I haven't seen since graduation, are visiting. I offer the choice of MPD swank or West Vill College Dive, and we find ourselves at a dive bar downtown. I soon find myself protesting to the DJ that, in addition to the most popular sublime and Greenday songs of the last decade, any good dive bar should add some blue album Weezer, the Toadies or for God's sake at least some Filter in their repertoire. Heaven forbid they play something 'unheard of’ from the past two years... but that's what the LES hipsters are for (which is a totally different rant).
Apparently my criticism attracts a group of high-energy, goofy-but-fun beer bong players. My friends and I are invited to watch the 'tournament' and our new found friends seem to be pros. They also seem to be relatively harmless but it becomes clear that this is a ploy to win us over and I'm just not interested in more than conversation. That, and I couldn't hit the wide side of a barn door with a ping pong ball much less a solo cup.
Making my retreat to the bar, I volunteer to keep watch over two of my friends’ pitchers and order up an H20 on the rocks while they go outside for cigarettes. This serves to distance myself from the Beirut table and also allows me to reflect that whilst college friends visiting may be a good excuse for ''college behavior," I'm glad I've outgrown a lot of the drinking games of yester year. I'm also becoming increasingly aware that I'm now left wide open to the frat boys at table pong should they lose... I'm hoping they'll win.
It's at this point that a much more "my-type" guy makes an obvious joke about my large supply of beer given that I'm drinking water. He follows this by a more observant and clever comment about my state of affairs with beer-pong extraordinaire. Impressed I continue the conversation, noting:
- slightly cheesy line, but no strikes out as of yet
- no popped collar
- nice sweater
- no mention of a "high-profile career."
It isn't until well into the conversation, and not until after my friends have returned, that I discover my new cute companion is only in town for the week.
Figures. But, as the alternative is a)leaving and disappointing my college friends who are talking to his mates, b) heading back to the table, I stick it out. Conversation never hurt anyone, right?
After several prodding questions I learn the following:
- he is in town for a dinner function....work related? no
- rehearsal dinner/bachelor party? no....
He's in town for a recruiting dinner. That's right; I'm spending my Friday night talking to a very smart, cute JUNIOR from Michigan State.
Brushing the cradle robber comments aside by my tickled friends, I find myself reverting to college party questions. I hesitate, and then ask, 'so what's your major?' No sooner does what I'm saying register before I hear the answer.
"Finance, I'm thinking insurance or banking.... not the most fascinating subject but you can make a ton of money doing it."
I'm not sure what my expression was but he started defending his position really quickly as my friends practically fell to the floor laughing. "This is a new degree of super sleuthing.... awesome."
The night ended well, but I'll never live that one down. Next visit I'm pressing the issue that we hit up somewhere with more expensive drinks, and less 'green' patrons.
Yey team. Score one for the kids.
It's not something I'm proud of, much less is it intentional, but it seems I have an uncanny knack for identifying the single ibanker in a room full of similarly dressed and styled twenty-something professionals. The amusing part of this ability? I'm oft completely unaware of said gentleman's background until mid-conversation. I know, I know you're thinking ‘what are the odds? Aren't there like 200,000 of these types in your age group on the isle of Manhattan?’ Buzz off. I could walk up to someone in a clown suit selling hotdogs on Delancy at noon on a Wednesday and they'd turn out to be of the financial services persuasion... it's a curse.
This particular proto-type are a dime a dozen in this city and I've learned to avoid guys with tell tale signs such as:
- popped collars
- polished lines that probably originated in a lemon lot if not a Will Ferrell youtube spot
- a certain swagger that only an overpaid coffee runner can master
None-the-less, call it All American charm, but I seem to find myself meeting more of these 'gentlemen' than HR Department at Lehman Brothers.
So fast-forward to last Friday. My college friends, who I haven't seen since graduation, are visiting. I offer the choice of MPD swank or West Vill College Dive, and we find ourselves at a dive bar downtown. I soon find myself protesting to the DJ that, in addition to the most popular sublime and Greenday songs of the last decade, any good dive bar should add some blue album Weezer, the Toadies or for God's sake at least some Filter in their repertoire. Heaven forbid they play something 'unheard of’ from the past two years... but that's what the LES hipsters are for (which is a totally different rant).
Apparently my criticism attracts a group of high-energy, goofy-but-fun beer bong players. My friends and I are invited to watch the 'tournament' and our new found friends seem to be pros. They also seem to be relatively harmless but it becomes clear that this is a ploy to win us over and I'm just not interested in more than conversation. That, and I couldn't hit the wide side of a barn door with a ping pong ball much less a solo cup.
Making my retreat to the bar, I volunteer to keep watch over two of my friends’ pitchers and order up an H20 on the rocks while they go outside for cigarettes. This serves to distance myself from the Beirut table and also allows me to reflect that whilst college friends visiting may be a good excuse for ''college behavior," I'm glad I've outgrown a lot of the drinking games of yester year. I'm also becoming increasingly aware that I'm now left wide open to the frat boys at table pong should they lose... I'm hoping they'll win.
It's at this point that a much more "my-type" guy makes an obvious joke about my large supply of beer given that I'm drinking water. He follows this by a more observant and clever comment about my state of affairs with beer-pong extraordinaire. Impressed I continue the conversation, noting:
- slightly cheesy line, but no strikes out as of yet
- no popped collar
- nice sweater
- no mention of a "high-profile career."
It isn't until well into the conversation, and not until after my friends have returned, that I discover my new cute companion is only in town for the week.
Figures. But, as the alternative is a)leaving and disappointing my college friends who are talking to his mates, b) heading back to the table, I stick it out. Conversation never hurt anyone, right?
After several prodding questions I learn the following:
- he is in town for a dinner function....work related? no
- rehearsal dinner/bachelor party? no....
He's in town for a recruiting dinner. That's right; I'm spending my Friday night talking to a very smart, cute JUNIOR from Michigan State.
Brushing the cradle robber comments aside by my tickled friends, I find myself reverting to college party questions. I hesitate, and then ask, 'so what's your major?' No sooner does what I'm saying register before I hear the answer.
"Finance, I'm thinking insurance or banking.... not the most fascinating subject but you can make a ton of money doing it."
I'm not sure what my expression was but he started defending his position really quickly as my friends practically fell to the floor laughing. "This is a new degree of super sleuthing.... awesome."
The night ended well, but I'll never live that one down. Next visit I'm pressing the issue that we hit up somewhere with more expensive drinks, and less 'green' patrons.
Yey team. Score one for the kids.
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