by Ira Trivedi
‘Please follow me,’ she said with a blank look on her face and walked away in the opposite direction.
I quickly picked up the new red leather office bag that I had recently purchased to complete my banker look and I ran after her, precariously balanced on my heels. As we rode the elevator up to the seventh floor Sally tapped away on her BlackBerry, ignoring me completely. When the doors slid open, she strode out, and I followed her past a row of frosted glass doors, past rows and rows of cubicles where people sat working in front of their computers and talking into their headsets. On the other side of the corridor there were offices belonging to MDs according to the gold nameplates on the wall. I tried to make conversation with Sally, but she didn’t seem in the mood for small talk. She stopped beside a small, claustrophobic cluster of desks, the only unsightly place on the floor, and turned around to face me. She cleared her throat and in the same blank, emotionless voice said, ‘This is the analyst pen, where you will be working this summer.’
I almost fainted when I saw the analyst pen. The cubicles were arranged very close to each other, almost in a circle; it was claustrophobic. The pen reeked of stale Chinese food and dirty socks.
Sally finally cracked a smile upon seeing the look of utter horror on my face. ‘The intimate setting of the analyst pen will allow you to experience and comprehend the life of a banker,’ she said. She turned to one of the guys busy working on a series of complicated Excel sheets and tapped him on the shoulder. ‘Amit, this is the new summer intern, Riya. She will be with us for twelve weeks. Riya this is Amit Malhotra, one of our analysts.’ Her BlackBerry beeped just then, and after a quick glance at it, she pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose and left without a farewell.
Amit Malhotra, still seated, swivelled around and gave me a shy smile. His nose sported a pimple that looked like it was about to pop. ‘Hi Riya, we heard a lot about you from Salman. Good to have you on board!’ he said enthusiastically.
‘Salman?’ I wondered aloud.
‘You interviewed with him, right?’
It all made sense now, that is how I had ended up in CDO—collateralized debt obligations—because of Salman. My interview with him had gone quite well. Memories of my interview came flooding back; Salman had told me all about CDOs after I’d feigned interest. Tranches, synthetic, rating bonds AA, and sub par … This was why I had been placed here. ‘Oh yes, of course. Salman … how is he? I haven’t had a chance to meet him yet.’
‘He moved to the London office a few weeks ago. A really important deal came along, and they needed him there, so he packed his bags and left. That’s the cool thing about I-banking … you get to travel a lot.’ It was too bad that Salman had moved to London. It might have helped to have him around.
Amit walked me to a desk right in the middle of the claustrophobic circle, ‘This is where Akhil used to sit. He left a few weeks ago for HSBC, he got a mad offer there. Why don’t you sit here for now? We’ll find space for the other intern when he gets here.’
Other intern? There would be two of us here? I placed my bankerette bag on the floor and sat down, dreading the competition. There was a chubby, pale guy sitting to my left drinking a Diet Coke and munching on a Snickers bar. Although it was just after nine, I didn’t think this qualified as an I-banking power breakfast.
‘Hi, Sean McCarthy, third year analyst and intern babysitter.’
I gave him a weak smile. Was that supposed to be funny?
Amit, who was still hovering close to my cubicle, said, ‘Don’t let this guy bother you, He’s a clown, disregard ninety-five per cent of the stuff he says.’
‘Hey analyst, some respect for your superiors maybe?’ Sean said as he threw the Snickers wrapper at Amit.
‘Sean, among other things, is our group’s trash can. He will eat anything and everything. Keep him well fed and he’s happy.’
Sean guffawed, rubbed his tummy and belched loudly. It was completely inappropriate behaviour, especially for bankers. ‘Intern, we are a bunch of hooligans, don’t mind us.’
I smiled and laughed politely. ‘Amit, just a quick question. That lady who brought me here … Sally? She’s the boss?’
‘Yes. That’s Sally Katz, VP. All of us report to her.’
I was crushed. This was definitely not how I had envisioned my golden future would begin. I looked at the people around me, mostly men busy working on their computers, many of whom hadn’t even noticed my arrival. These were definitely not the types of bankers that I had imagined working with. Sean seemed to be deeply absorbed in staring at his screen while chewing loudly on a piece of gum. My pantyhose-clad legs, perfectly polished black shoes and smart suit seemed out of place in this den of slovenliness. The phone on Amit’s desk rang and he sprinted back to his desk, leaving me alone. I sat down on the ergonomically perfect Aeron chair which had cost the firm more than a thousand dollars a pop. (After several lawsuits from employees who had suffered serious postural problems, the firm had finally decided to invest in the chairs.) My station had three brand new LED monitors attached to each other making me feel as if I was in a computer cocoon. I looked around me, and felt a little bit disgusted. The phone on Amit’s desk rang and he sprinted to pick it up. I switched on my computer and tried to at least appear to be busy because I wasn’t sure what to do with myself.
An hour later, Amit came by and handed me a couple of pitch books that he said would tell me all about CDOs. I gladly took them from him. Something to do. The pitch books contained previous deals that the group had closed and a very detailed explanation of what a collateralized debt obligation was. I tried my very best to focus on and absorb what I was reading but the numerous tables and complicated terminology made it terribly difficult. Even though I couldn’t understand any of the stuff, I had to at least appear to be enthusiastic and interested. Be proactive, the speakers at the training seminars had said repeatedly. I decided to prepare a list of questions that I would accost Sally with later.
I was flipping through the thick spiral-bound pitch books, when I heard someone whisper in my ear.
‘Riya, you have the best seat in the house,’ Amit said gleefully. ‘Usually this seat is reserved for senior analysts, while interns are relegated to the periphery of social Siberia.’
‘Oh wow, Amit, I didn’t realize that. This is very fortunate.’ I figured Amit had already realized my potential and seated me here.
‘What’s up?’ I heard a voice behind me a while later and turned around to see Sean.
‘Oh um, nothing. Just going through some stuff that Amit gave me. This is all very interesting.’
‘Fo’ shizzle, CDOs are the sexiest product on the street right now, a real cash cow for the firm. You should feel really lucky that you have been placed here. By the way, if you ever need anything at all … you know who’s your man,’ and he winked at me.
‘Thanks,’ I said trying my best to smile, ‘you guys are great here.’
He lowered his voice and moved closer to me. ‘Well, Amit can be a bit … anal. You know he’s going to make you do it the hard way. I know all the shortcuts around here … all of them, I am shortcut king around here,’ he said with a sly smile on his face. The BlackBerry that was clipped to his waist started beeping. He scowled, ‘That pain in the ass …’ He turned to me and pointed to his BlackBerry and then with a wince, ‘Booty Call … I’ll show a model or two later that could be very useful to you.’ He winked at me again and walked away in quick short steps.
Sean seemed like a nice enough guy, as did Amit, but both of them looked so boring, just like the big fat CDO binder that was lying in front of me. Everyone around me was engrossed in work, and only the occasional sound of someone typing on their keyboard broke the deathly silence in the analyst pen.
The only exciting thing that happened was getting my Goldstein Smith email address—[email protected]. It was a sign that I belonged in Goldstein Smith. I was so thrilled that I quickly sent emails to my family and friends. All personal email accounts h
ad been blocked on the office computers, but some clever banker had created a Facebook for the web, so I spent a lot of time there, keeping an Excel doc open to hide the Facebook screen. Whenever I saw someone approaching, I quickly turned to Excel and pretended to be hard at work.
The afternoon passed by without any incident and the only break I took was for lunch. We had already been warned that unless invited to join a senior associate, our lunch break was merely a five-minute window when we could pick up our lunch and return to our desks to eat. I walked across the street to an unimpressive deli with an exorbitantly priced menu. The cheapest item was the $5 peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich, which is what I purchased.
After lunch, Amit introduced me to the Goldstein Smith internal instant messaging system so that I could ask him any questions I had online, even though he sat just a few feet away from me. The IM was a blessing in disguise because I was able to locate Ivana and chat. Her first day was going as slowly as mine. Neither Sean nor Amit had initiated any more conversation with me, and I had gone through the CDO binder several times, and understood about as much as I had the first time around. It was a lonely boring day and I decided to break the monotony by making a quick phone call to my mom in the bathroom, because I was too scared to use my cellphone in the analyst pen.
At 8 p.m. I was itching to go home, but no one around me seemed ready to leave anytime soon, and I had vowed to stick to the golden rule: first one in, last one out. It was the first day though, couldn’t I take it a bit easy? After all, even if I left at nine I would have still clocked twelve hours at work. At 8.49 p.m. the phone at my desk rang.
‘Riya, it’s Sally.’
‘Hi Sally!’ I said, trying to fake some enthusiasm, though I probably just sounded idiotic.
‘We have a project for you, please come over to the synthetic side.’
‘Sure, Sally, I’ll be right there.’
A project! Finally, life was about to get interesting. Although I had been looking forward to going home, I was thrilled with the prospect of getting some meaningful work at last. This had to be something important; why else would Sally ask me to start something so late? I walked over to where Amit sat staring at his computer screen, lost in the deep, dark world of Excel.
‘Amit, can I disturb you for just one second?’
‘Yeah … sure … How can I help you?’ he said swivelling around on his chair.
‘Sally has asked me for help on an important project over on the synthetic side. Could you tell me where that is?’
‘Give me a quick second and I’ll take you there.’
‘Thanks Amit,’ I said gratefully.
He led me through a maze of desks, across the floor to where Sally Katz sat in a small cubicle. As a VP I thought she would actually have an office rather than the glorified desk she sat at right now.
‘Hey Sally!’
‘Hi Amit,’ she said in that icy tone without bothering to look at him.
‘Just wanted to bring Riya across to you!’ he said and quickly walked away, leaving me alone with the icicle. I stood by the desk, waiting for her to acknowledge my presence, feeling more like a naughty child about to be punished than a confident investment banker.
‘I need you to update this pitch book ASAP,’ she said pointing to a thick pile that lay next to her. Her phone buzzed, and she took the call, talking in a monotone, without any emotion, the same way that she spoke to me. She finished her conversation and turned to me. ‘What are you still doing here? Get on the job. We don’t have all day.’
Three hours later I sat in front of a computer editing the pitch book, struggling greatly on account of my non-existent PowerPoint skills. Maybe I should have done my homework over the summer after all. I deeply regretted taking Sally’s phone call, but I didn’t really have a choice. This was perhaps the most painful, mundane task that I had ever done in my entire life. The pitch book I’d been given had corrections on almost every page, marked in red, and I had to incorporate those changes in a hundred slides on Microsoft PowerPoint. Staring at the screen, making tables, straightening lines, fixing margins, changing numbers and colours and fonts had left me with a splitting headache. Sally had ordered a pizza at some point, and sent me down to pick it up when it arrived. As I carried it back to her, the delicious aroma invaded my senses and my stomach rumbled … no pizza had ever been as fragrant. Sally took the box and retreated to the privacy of her cubicle; she never offered me any. At 3 a.m. I finally finished the pitch book and as per Sally’s instructions, asked Amit to check my work. He turned out to be as anal as Sean had touted him to be, and asked me to redo several slides. Sean came to my rescue and showed me tricks and shortcuts in PowerPoint. He even shared a can of Red Bull from the twelve-pack that lay under his desk. An hour later I was finally ready to leave. My head was spinning and my body was numb. I had been at the office for twenty hours, with only a ten-minute break to pick up my lunch. Dinner was a bag of chips and skittles from the vending machine. Sean’s spoils lay on the floor next to my desk, an empty McDonald’s bag and six crushed Diet Coke cans. I walked through the maze of empty desks towards the elevator, glancing back once at the analyst pen that was as full as it had been when I had arrived in the morning.
Five minutes later, I stepped outside the building and greedily inhaled the fresh air (if such a thing were possible in New York City) while listening to the voice message from Ivana, her cheery voice asking me to join her for drinks. There would be no drinks, no clubs, not even dinner for me tonight. I felt tears of self-pity well up in my eyes. I was tired and had low blood sugar levels on account of starvation.
Would every single day be so miserable? What happened to the glamorous, golden, Goldstein Smith summer that I had dreamt of? As I walked towards the subway, warm tears ran down my face as I recalled my dad telling me that sitting in one chair, in one place, for so many hours was a matter of great discipline and that he was proud of me for doing it. I had disregarded him, thinking that he had no clue about a banker’s glamorous life. I reminded myself that I was living my dream. This was what I had wanted to do. I was finally a Goldstein Girl, I had worked hard to get here and I had to do whatever it took to get an offer.
I woke up less than three hours after I had left the office to the screeching of my alarm clock. I looked across the room, and as always Martha’s side was perfectly organized. She was probably already on her way to work, although I vaguely remembered her coming in after me. I struggled to sit up in bed, my eyes itchy and dry from an exhausted night and I longed more than ever before to go back to sleep. I contemplated calling in sick, but it was only Day Two. Perhaps yesterday had actually been a very, very bad dream and Sally a hideous figment of my imagination. Maybe when I woke up I would go back to another day of intern training, gossiping with Ivana and drinking free booze at the intern events. But another screech from my alarm clock jostled me back to reality and I painfully stepped out of bed.
One ice-cold shower, a walk in the steamy New York morning, a $5 Starbucks latte and a suffocating subway ride later I was back in the analyst pen which reeked of leftover Chinese take-out that someone had left in the overflowing bin. A few pale, light-deprived interns worked feverishly on their screens and I wondered if they had been here since yesterday morning. They were dressed in ill-fitting, wrinkled clothes, and I vowed to myself that no matter what happened to me this summer, the many hours I would spend in the office, and the all-nighters I would pull, I would never ever look like that. I had worked too hard on myself to end up looking like Sally.
Even though this was only my second day, I felt like I had been at this desk, in this pigsty, for months. I was proud of that fact that I had arrived before both Amit and Sean, but now that I was here I didn’t know what to do with myself. I rechecked my work from last night, straightened a few lines that didn’t really need it, and made boxes around things that could have done without. Scouring the business sections of all the main newspapers seemed like a good way to spend the rest of the mor
ning. That and, of course, Facebook. Thank God for the Internet. I had just logged into Facebook when I saw Icicle Sally walk towards the analyst pen and a feeling of dread and nervousness came over me. I quickly pulled up a PowerPoint file and put some binders around me so that I at least looked halfway busy. Thankfully she walked right past the analyst pen. I took a deep breath and settled back into nothingness.
Idzervite: Hey u!
Ivana had just logged into the Goldstein IM.
Rjain: Hey babe!
Idzervite: Howz it going?
Rjain: Eh. Slow. I was here till 4 this morning … can u believe it?
Idzervite: All of us minions share the same pathetic destiny.
Rjain: Sucks.
Idzervite: What have u been up to?
Rjain: Shit loads of PP … sooo boring.
Idzervite: Yeah me too. I’ve been given this really hellish project already and its totally tedious.
Rjain: Well at least u r busy. For me it’s all bout facetime right now.
Idzervite: Okay babe I better get back to work now. The associate next to me giving me a dirty look.
Rjain: Let’s do lunch together?
Idzervite: You mean ‘pick up’ lunch.
Rjain: Obviously.
Idzervite: Okay see u downstairs at 1.30 and fill me in on the gossip.
Ivana was already working on a project. I wonder what that meant. Was I supposed to get one too? Should I be asking for one? Anxiety gripped me; was I behind the ball when it came to being proactive? I wished Amit or Sean would arrive quickly so I could ask them. They sauntered in at 10 a.m., dressed in neatly ironed shirts and pants. Acceptable but not at all banker-chic. Maybe it was just an analyst thing, and if Lady Luck was on their side then one day they’d grow into the spiffy bankers they were destined to be.