-Recently, I found myself inside the investment bank where I used to work, futilely trying to take a shit in the bathroom.  I’ll discuss later how I arrived at this unfortunate moment, but at the time, my primary thought – besides wishing the guy in the next stall would fucking leave already – was that not much had changed since I left Wall Street over four years ago.  In fact, I don’t think cubicle life in general has changed that much.  Every twentysomething’s office across the country still has hideous carpet, fast Internet, and that one really hot chick who only dates rich, older guys.  It’s a less-than-serious work environment where the attitude, like the dress code, is strictly business casual.

-During my thirteen-month stint in the electrifying world of Equity Research, there was a six-week time period when two different groups in my company thought I was assigned to the other, and therefore I had zero responsibility besides consuming office electricity and coffee.  My roommate Brian nicknamed me the “human cost center.”

-My buddy in New York recently got laid off, went on interviews, got a new job, and then after the fact, told his parents only that he had switched companies for a better opportunity.  That is fucking genius.  That’s like showing up at your parents’ house all of a sudden with a wife and a kid and saying, “I just didn’t want you to be all annoying about it.”

-I believe that in every corporate cafeteria there is a long-ingrained hierarchy.  And on top of that literal food chain stands the Omelet Guy.  Everyone loves the Omelet Guy.  He dispenses the diced green peppers at will as the line snakes back to the untouched granola-and-yogurt parfaits.  The other cooks despise the Omelet Guy, and I bet he just bosses them around and bangs the cashiers.  Omelet Guy, I salute you for your charm, dedication, and egg whites-only option.