The most stressful day in my life, without a doubt, was the day of my final round interviews at Lehman Brothers. Holy dogshit. I had spent months preparing, handwriting at least 50 pages of notes in microscopic print about the current market environment, the banking industry, and miscellaneous other crap. I was overprepared, but that didn’t stop me from being deathly afraid.
Deathly afraid didn’t describe it. When the HR girl led me from the elevator onto the trading floor, with a sea of white and blue shirts and stupid ties, and screaming and yelling about Lord Knows What, I about shit an eggroll. I was nervous for good reason. This would be the day that determined the direction of the rest of my existence. Thinking back, I didn’t really have a plan if I didn’t get the job. I had no safety net. I had already put in my letter of resignation with the Coast Guard. But if I got the job, I would be set for life.
It was true that I would be set for life—but not in the way that I thought. I thought that I would have a 25-year career at Lehman, get promoted to managing director, make millions of dollars in cash and stock, and get the gold watch when I retired. Obviously, things didn’t work out that way. I got the job, and I was set for life, but in a different way—the knowledge I acquired and the connections that I made is what made me set for life, not the bonuses. I get paid more as a writer today—much more—than I made as a trader at Lehman Brothers. But it would have not been possible without that experience. It changed everything. Literally everything. It changed the clothes that I wore. It changed the people I hung out with. It changed the parties I went to. It changed where I lived. It changed my entire mindset—it was responsible for me moving from a scarcity mentality to an abundance mentality, though it happened over a long period of time.
The knowledge—I like to say that when you work in finance, you understand how the world works. The average person sees used car prices rising, and has no idea why. The financier knows. The average person has no idea of how the mechanics of how a home mortgage works. The financier knows. You work in finance, you become conversant in politics, geopolitics, raw materials production, trade, the FDA approval process, venture capital, private equity, and many other things. In short, you become much more worldly. A kid from Staten Island can get hired on a desk and within a few years, acquire enough sophistication to carry on an intelligent conversation with most world leaders.
So imagine that all of this comes down to just one day. It’s all on the line. Banking interviews are a minefield—you have to have the right suit, the right tie, the right glasses, the right shirt, and the right shoes. And you can’t take any risks. There’s a million ways to step on your crank. And a lot of it comes down to luck—catch a trader on a bad day and you’re doomed. Your whole life hangs in the balance. Fuck yeah, I was nervous.
There is a lot about that day I don’t remember. I do remember a friendly interview with Nadja Fidelia, the head of recruiting. She wasn’t out to trick me. It went well. And if I had put any thought into how well that interview with the head of recruiting went, I probably would have figured out that me getting hired was all but a foregone conclusion. A trader friend of mine, Will Ford, had been in her ear for months, telling her that she had to hire me, because I had busted my ass so hard to get in. Will passed away in 2019, and everything I have today—all of it—is all due to his efforts. I hope to see him again someday, so I can thank him properly.
I recall an interview with Jon Meltzer, who was fairly senior in credit sales—at the start of the interview, he remarked that my shoes were the shiniest he had ever seen. It was true—I was the shoe-shining samurai, and I could make a shoe so shiny that you would read a newspaper in the reflection. He commented that anyone who had that kind of attention to detail would make a great trader. Nicest guy in the world. He went to Goldman a couple of years later, and had a long career there.
Most of all, I remember an interview with Rod Gancas, an interest rates vol trader, and ex-Marine intel officer. He starts off by whipping out my resume, yelling about how I had a typo on it. It read “Encrusted with Top Secret clearance” instead of “Entrusted with Top Secret clearance.” I freaked the fuck out. But I kept cool, and said, sorry, I don’t know how that got on there, and he said, I changed it in Word, I just wanted to see how you would react. Absolutely sadistic. This was in the days before pdfs, naturally.
But the tough interview continued. He peppered me with questions about things like the Durbin-Watson coefficient, and I was just lost. He gets frustrated and says, “You know about options, right? Let me ask you a question about options.” So he asks me this relatively simple question about how options behave right before expiration, and I nailed it. He told me that the Ivy League guys never got that question right, because they only know about derivatives from books. Rod went on to start a very successful hedge fund, and just liquidated it late last year.
At the end of the interview, I said my goodbyes to the HR girl and landed on the sidewalk, in a daze. I had a flight back to San Francisco later that evening, but there was plenty of time until then. What to do?
Well, I had to check out of the hotel—there was one right across the street from Lehman (remember, this was in the 3 World Financial Center days), and I found myself standing outside with my sad luggage. The luggage was from LL Bean—a truly massive blue canvas and leather soft-sided bag (with no wheels), and a matching garment bag. This was before the days when I learned to pack light.
Across the street was a movie theater—great idea! I hauled my bags up to the ticket counter and looked at my choices. Charlie’s Angels, amazing, pure mindless fun. D for done. I dragged all my shit up the stairs, got a 64oz Diet Coke, and went into the theater. Totally empty. I grabbed a seat towards the back, and settled in.
God, is this great. Cameron Diaz, Drew Barrymore and Lucy Liu. What a stupid movie. But so stupidly awesome—and just what I needed. And then, something incredible happened. Every muscle in my body started to relax. Every vertebra in my back began to crack. I had been storing so much tension in my body for the last year, and it was all coming out at once. Regardless of what happened, it was over. At that moment, I didn’t even care about the outcome. All I cared about was watching these hot women fight crime.
I ended up drinking the entire 64oz Diet Coke, and predictably, I had to pee. But I didn’t want to haul the LL Bean bags all the way into the head. And I didn’t want to leave them unattended. I looked around—still no one in the theater. So I unzipped my pants and emptied the contents of my bladder in the giant cup, filling it all the way to the brim. At the end of the movie, I dropped the full, warm cup of piss into the trash can with an audible thud.
I got the call a couple of days later. And the rest is history.
Go fuck yourself,
Jared
Music Recommendation: One of my favorite tracks of all time. Very early Dosem here, circa 2009. I saw Nick Warren perform this live at Cielo. Sounded incredible on the Funktion One. Dosem has had a number of incarnations in his career, from melodic techno, to big room techno, and back to progressive. One of the most prolific artists out there.
P.S. We’re Gonna Get Those Bastards will always be free. Feel free to forward to as many people as you like.
That movie theater scene is great. Reminded me of the time when I went to a public indoor pool with my then 5-year-old son. At some point, he had to go to the bathroom really, really bad. The restrooms were far away, and it was a long, cold walk in a wet bathing suit. So I'm ashamed to admit, I told him, "Just pee in the pool; everyone's doing it anyway." Next thing I see is my dear son standing at the top of the stairs on the side of the pool, pulling down his swim trunks and getting ready to pee in the water. (I managed to grab him before he could do it, but boy.)
Love you JD!