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No, just messing. He thinks it sucks, big time. Read more »
An enterprising young lady and recent graduate of Duke slept with 50-100* guys in her time down South and put her tops in a 42-slide PowerPoint presentation entitled “Fuck List,” exhaustively ranking the men in the following categories: physical attractiveness, size, talent, creativity, aggressiveness, entertainment, athletic ability and more. As most of the subjects are former lacrosse players, a bunch of them apparently landed on Wall Street after sleeping with the Angel of Darkness. [Deadspin]
*Just ballparking it.
Since its founding in 1869, one of the principles Goldman Sachs has steadfastly promoted is employee anonymity. You’re there to work, for the clients, not attract attention. The Time of the Pitchforks has only served to underscore the importance of the rule. Outside the walls of the firm, employees are not to talk or even think about Goldman Sachs. Someone asks where you work, you tell them “Arby’s” or “I’m not at liberty to say” and walk away. One slip up– just one!– and you could be out. Here’s an example of how one is expected to interact with the outside world.
Standing in the lobby of the Metropolitan Museum of Art in Manhattan, a first-year analyst at Goldman Sachs recently debated whether to show his employee ID to get free admission — a perk given to the museum’s corporate partners. The problem? The trader knew that flashing his Goldman credentials at the ticket window would mean risking sneers (or worse) from the tourists and museum employees standing nearby. Instead, he pocketed his ID and paid $20. “It feels like I’m working for the C.I.A.,” the analyst said. He said that during his training, they were told “nobody should be able to identify us as Goldman employees once we left the office.”
He ultimately made the right decision but the art lover gets points off for hesitating, and momentarily considering flashing the ID of that which shall not be named. Had he done so, a sniper would’ve shot him on the spot. Earlier this summer, an entire group an analysts was nearly wiped out due to the similar carelessness.
This summer, a group of new Goldman employees tried to leave the firm’s 200 West Street headquarters wearing training nametags emblazoned with the firm’s logo, but were stopped by a security guard at the door. “Take those off before you go outside,” the guard ordered, according to a person with knowledge of the incident.
If it seems like a lot of pressure to constantly be keeping one’s situation on the down low, it is. And Goldman employees aren’t the only one suffering, their friends are going through it too.
Some young Goldman employees have found their tight privacy restrictions to be a source of mystique. “It’s actually sort of obnoxious,” said one private equity analyst with friends who work at Goldman. “They all go around calling it ‘the Firm,’ and we’re supposed to know which firm they’re talking about.”
Being known as the insufferable asshole in your social circle, however, is just the price one must pay when they work at the Firm. All about trade-offs, you know? And if you don’t like it, hey, you can always go work for Morgan Stanley, where they don’t care if you get drunk, scale the building in only your boxers and shout the company name from rooftop. Read more »
On a whiteboard. Read more »
Almost a year ago, at the height of the campaign to Hate on Goldman Sachs, Lloyd Blankfein issued an edict. Lay low. Do not draw attention to the firm. Do not purchase flashy items. Do not dump a bag of hundos on the floor, strip naked and roll around in them at your local watering hole. Don’t even eat together outside the walls of headquarters if you know what’s good for you. Lloyd wasn’t telling people to not be themselves, just not to be themselves in public, where they could be readily identified as employees of Goldman Sachs. Naturally, the rule applied not only to first-year peons but the upper echelons of Goldman Sachs management as well. Which is why when he threw “a series of” topless parties in the Hamptons last summer, partner, managing director and hero to all Rick Kimball did so in the privacy of his Southampton rental. The same logic presumably applied during the planning of an upcoming “naked-themed Halloween party,” supposedly taking place at his pad on Jane Street. Read more »
Third prize is you’re fired.