AnonymousLawStudent

The half-truths, omissions, and outright lies about floating through law school.

Monday 04/11/05

Tuesday, April 12, 2005

I was out with a friend earlier. He works at a hedge fund, which apparently made a killing today flipping a stock that is about to get taken over. Something like 10% in a week's time, he says. Come out, he says, big party we are celebrating some clients and people are going to be out. Models. Cool shit, it's gonna be awesome.

I put on my finest striped shirt and make a beeline for one of Manhattan's, how shall I say this, trendiest bars. There are more 9s and 10s than I have ever seen congregated before in my life. Pretty soon I am trashed on single malt and grabbing a Polish model's ass, asking her how growing up in Prague was. Since she thinks I am making a mil+ a year, she is being very discreet about moving my palm away from her g-string and not informing me that I am several countries off. I am completely trashed but among the top 10% of sobriety of the people I am there with. Apparently they held quite a bit of the target corporation and are wasted beyond belief.

I run to the bathroom and come back for the tail end of a conversation between my friend--the young gun slinger--and his boss, a minor player in the New York hedge fund scene. The only thing I hear is the old guy saying with a smirk "...Oh yeah? Well why don't you blow me?!" I expect everyone to break out in knee-slapping laughter as they do. I am trying to flag down a waitress to get a glass of $40 port when I hear the exchange continuing:
"No, seriously, why don't you blow me."
"Um...get of here."
"No, I am not fucking around. Why don't you blow me. Get down on your knees and suck my ...."
"Dude. This is not cool."
"Hey! Fucker! Don't call me "dude." I make millions a month. You hear me? Millions of dollars. What have you done except for fuck up that Hong Kong deal last month? I buy and sell shit like you before I have breakfast. Have a little fucking respect."
"I'm sorry...I..."
"So if you want to keep that cushy job of yours and the money I waste on your incompetent ass every week, get down on your knees and...BLOW ME!"
He screams the last part. I mean at the top of his lungs, thundering the words louder than the Paul Van Dyke re-mix of some Kylie Minogue song that is blaring. The whole bar is shut down and looking on in horror. I mean the whole place stops and the Eastern European models and the gay waiters and the downtown traders and the hip wealthy children of wealthier parents all stop to stare at our table. My friend looks as white as the walls of a hospital and is nervously looking around. He has a great job that he probably could not get again and if he gets on this guy's bad side...well let's just say there won't be many models in his future. There is a silence that seems to go on forever.
"I am just kidding around, you prick."
"Um..."
"You looked like you were gonna blow me any second there."
The old guy is trying to channel Joe Pesci in "Goodfellas" but it comes out even more abusive somehow. I realize I have to piss again because I have been drinking a Thai microbrew that has appeared in my hand from out of nowhere. My friend comes in and without taking two steps throws up in the sink. I try to calm him down but he looks like he just saw a ghost.

4 Comments:

At 1:30 PM, Anonymous Anonymous said...

What an asshole.

 
At 9:04 PM, Blogger ALS said...

"What an asshole."

Hey!

Don't talk about me like that!

 
At 9:23 AM, Blogger Finishing Law School said...

I want to work at a hedge fund! Sounds like a much more interesting crowd than old lawyers talking about their upcoming divorce and their third wife. Will they hire me with a JD and a bar license or two?

 
At 1:44 AM, Blogger ALS said...

"I want to work at a hedge fund! Sounds like a much more interesting crowd than old lawyers talking about their upcoming divorce and their third wife. Will they hire me with a JD and a bar license or two?"

You do realize that everyone and their cousin wants to work at a hedge fund, right? They are the dot.coms of the roaring 2000s. But why would they care about your "bar license" or further multiple ones?

 

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