You start by saying they should hire you because you are a business decathlete: the Bruce Jenner of the recruiting class. When told he’s now Caitlyn, you respond with “OK – I’m the dick version of Bruce.”
When asked why you want to work in banking, you respond so you can get paid, laid and partayed.
Your last name is Rockefeller and you don’t take interviews seriously because you are a card carrying member of the lucky sperm club.
Your interviewer ends by telling you the job “will be hard but worth it in the long-run” to which you retort with “that’s what she said!”
You wear your matching Ivy League tie and cufflinks so you don’t have to open your mouth for others to know you are smarter than them.
You love Christian Bale’s portrayal of a serial killer investment banker in American Psycho but don’t think the story is realistic because you know he would never have saved the cat.
You invite clients to male dwarf-tossing on the trading floor instead of the Raider cheerleaders meet-and-greet because you are totally in tune with the #MeToo movement.
You believe that one can be at the right place and right time. How else could you explain all the dumbasses you work for?
You post on LinkedIn that you are humbled to be named to Forbes Midas list of top bankers. You repost it on Facebook and Twitter saying you were surprised to be listed.
You predicted the crash proving that you are the Nostradamus of Wall Street. Just like you’ve been doing every Christmas since 2000.
You never follow your own financial advice because it’s just plain f*cking wrong.
You know that any problem solvable with money isn’t a problem.
You know that whoever said money doesn’t buy happiness was either poor as dirt or dumb as sh*t.
You know you can’t possibly live on $2 million per year? Your drug habit alone costs a cool million.
You don’t want to go to a second tier business school because it’s a slippery slope to working at a third tier firm and marrying a fourth tier wife.
You secretly worship Donald Trump but know that if you tell your girlfriend you won’t get sex the once a month you’re able to get out of the office.
Your third wife is mad at you for cheating on her just like you did with her on your second wife.
You wear your Goldman Sachs vest and Wharton tie on your Tinder profile.
You decide to quit by writing an email to the entire firm stating that its full of yellow bellied assholes. You send the email just to yourself.
Your boss tells you they are finally firing you because you are an entitled sh*t. You get your dad to buy the firm so you can fire the guy who fired you.
Liudicrous 