Bye Bye Banking

[This article was first published on http://life.hereisthecity.com/sound_off/982.cntns, on 14th June 2009.] 

To pay my last respects to the 8 years of my life dedicated to the altar of investment banking, I ventured one last time to my old office.

Strictly speaking that’s not entirely a true statement – I dragged my heels grumbling and muttering grievances to deliver my signed severance contract because I was too tight-fisted to pay for a courier. After all, as Sir Alan has been highlighting on a regular basis to those unfamiliar (and his wannabe apprentices), these are testing times.

Furtively I scan the vista for any recognisable faces. Tucked away discretely, like a firearm, I have my well-rehearsed response to any awkward sympathetic offerings that may arise; ready to be whipped out, aimed and fired. It has not escaped me the way redundancy casualties are treated like victims of a taboo disease of questionable origin – with a certain uncomfortable demeanour and stilted conversation skirting incessantly around the actual ailment but without any direct reference to it. As luck would have it, altercations aren’t on the day’s agenda.

I am officially no longer an employee of the bank. Or indeed, of anything or anyone. Dare I say it; I am now officially unemployed. Not since the two months immediately following graduation from university can I claim the status of idle thumb twiddler; set to contribute a big fat doughnut to the nation’s tax revenue.

Instead of running from the building shouting ‘Free at last! Free at last!’ it is a decidedly low-key, muted affair (think Camilla and Charles’ wedding). Stepping beyond the doors for the final time, my 1 year old waves a farewell with more feeling than I can muster. Is it relief? Nostalgia? Sadness at the end of an era? The rush of memories of steps I trod thousands of times, in heels, flats, boots and sandals, season after season, year after year. The ghost of me lingers here like a small part my soul that I can’t reclaim.

Today is the day I redeemed my soul – but is a soul any more soulful employed in idle musings than soulless in an industry of alleged moral compromise? And what next now that I am no longer tethered to bureacracy? I hear Sir Alan is on the hunt for his next apprentice…

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