The Beginning of the End...

Today marks the beginning of the end of my post-college, pre-MBA career. Including today, I have 5 more days of work left. Unbelievable. So much has happened over the past 5 1/2 years since I took my last final at Berkeley. (Amazingly, I actually remember that final. It was BA 150, Organizational Behavior. Being that it was my last final, I took a shot of some alcohol beforehand - can't remember what it was - fortunately grades didn't really matter anymore because, not surprisingly, I didn't do very well on that final.)

Since then, I've received my degree (barely - as anyone who was in Berkeley for my graduation ceremony knows), moved cross-country to New York, job-hopped a bit in New York, went through several different "core" groups of friends, and then moved even farther east for a few months, to London, where I have been working for the last 2 1/2 months.

And here I am, Friday, June 23, 2006. Today marks the "beginning of the end" because it's my last Friday as a corporate slut. Well, my last Friday as a corporate slut until whatever internship I start next summer. Since, as a working man, Fridays have always been my favorite day of the week, I'm suddenly getting very sentimental about work - not London, or Barclays specifically, or any co-workers in particular, just the concept of having a job. Even back when I was a scumbag investment banking analyst who regularly worked weekends, I almost never stayed past 7ish on a Friday evening. Thus leaving enough time to order a firm-funded (or client-funded) dinner and grab a couple drinks with co-workers before heading home to get ready for the REAL partying.

I remember, back when I was a first-year analyst, and still relatively young and energetic at 21. I would go out with my then-roommates, Vinay and Ramesh, and my first group of NY friends, including Vinay's then-gf, now-wife Anjali, their friend Pooja, and some of their other friends (with Anuj and Ali Haider occasionally thrown into the mix). We'd party til 3 or 4am at some Indian party at Metronome or Lansky Lounge, get some food and head home. Then, somehow, I'd wake up at 10 or 11 the next morning, hit the gym, and make it to work around lunchtime. Some Saturdays I'd only have to stay for a few hours, leaving the bulk of the work for Sunday, or, better yet, for someone else. But a lot of times, I'd have to put in a full 8+ hours even on a Saturday. Hungover, on not enough sleep. And somehow, I was able to do it, and often times I would even be able to rally to make it out Saturday night and repeat the same schedule on Sunday (except the going out at night).

Now, I'm a not-so-young, not-so-energetic 26. The Friday night NY partying crew before I left for London was completely different (except Ali). Anuj had left New York. Sujit had come and gone. Smitty had moved to New York and I was living with him and partying regularly with him. I somehow became friends with a whole crew of NYU kids who are all like 3 years younger than me (that's my shout-out to Poo, Ronak, Fake, Reena, Shef, etc. even though none of them read this). Even the partying had changed. The frequency of pre-partying had increased dramatically (as had the quantity of pre-partying drinks consumed). SoCo Lime was out (to an extent), replaced by Patron and Jager. Metronome was Strata. Lansky Lounge was God-knows-what. Post-partying food, at least as a group, was rare. One or more of us would generally be too drunk and thus leave, and 9 out of 10 nights (ok, fine, 99 out of 100), I'd stumble into a cab with Smitty and we'd go home together, occasionally slurring "Big Mac combo - diet coke" at the 24-hour McDonald's on 28th and Park (the diet cokes NEVER got drank).

The saturday mornings changed also. Fortunately, I was no longer an i.banker and thus didn't have to work weekends. Did I ever wake up at 10 or 11 to go to the gym? Fuck no. I would still make it to the gym occasionally, stumbling out of my bed and into my workout clothes at noon or 1. I'd walk downstairs, where one or more people would still be sleeping on the futon/couch, sometimes even the floor. I'd shake my hypocritical head with disapproval and head out to the gym. The problem is I'd still be hungover while on the treadmill, simply praying that if I ran long enough and fast enough, I could sweat out the residual alcohol. Then I'd come home and the futon/couch people would generally be half-awake, watching TV or searching for random chicks on Friendster (you know who I'm talking about). Not having to go to work, we'd just start drinking again to kill the time until Saturday night rolled around. I can't even imagine the wreck that I would be if I had to go into work on a Saturday. I honestly am at the point where I don't think I can EVER work weekends again.

So, there it is. My last Friday at work. Of course, it won't be the same being here in London. I don't really have anyone to get drunk with, so, quite ironically, I probably won't be hungover tomorrow. I might even make it to the gym.