Bouse Mogger is Paradise

9am: Your alarm wakes you up with a start from your 2 hour slumber; last night’s Black Coffee set at NYC Pacha’s opening party was insane. You sluggishly roll out of your Ralph Lauren custom sheets (you’re spending 3/4 of your monthly on a studio in West Village) and generously apply Bleu de Chanel EDP, combing back your luscious blonde locks. You squint away the sleep in your floor to ceiling bathroom mirror and glance at your navy blue Ferragamo chrono that your MD made a comment on the other day. “FUCK!” you exclaim, wiping last night’s white residue from your nasal cavity. You’re gonna be late for work, and it’s only your second week on the job at Morgan Stanley.  As you attempt to squeeze out a post-drinking bowel movement, you peruse through Black Coffee’s recent posts to find the @ of the blonde booth bunny you swear winked at you. No luck. You quickly call up an Uber black on daddy’s Amex Plat and make a beeline for the elevator. 

9:30am: As the Uber driver pulls up, you realize that you recognize him. “Waheem!” you exclaim. It’s your old coke dealer back from the semi-target college you attended (think IU, UMiami, ASU) who seems to have moved away from his old ways - good for him. He’s smoking a J the size of a small taquito and offers you a drag, which you politely refuse (no smoking za during working hours, you tell yourself). After a brief uber ride in which Waheem fills you in on his latest “side hustles”, you finally arrive at the Morgan Stanley office. You step in the elevator and are greeted by a blonde balayage and La Roche Posay’s newest “Dewey skin” makeup look with Ashley from HR. You flash your BL2 veneers and wrack your brain for something clever to say. You settle with a Swiss Chris reference about Francesca to which she laughs at (she didn’t get it at all). I’ll ask her out once the first year bonus hits, you tell yourself. Once the elevator dings and the doors slide open, you awkwardly squeeze by Ashley and rush towards the bullpen.

10am: Before you can even open up an excel file to feign productivity, you are greeted by Conrad, the insufferable 32 year old MBA Associate who gives you a snide look. “Late for the second week on the job?”, he quips. He’s yet to receive a PE offer or VP promote (he claims he’s been in off-cycle superday processes for the past three months). You resist the urge to clap back with a comment on his early onset manopause. Knowing that he has full control of your workload this weekend (you booked a tee time you cannot miss), you resign yourself to listening to his monologue on how he “got hella play with baddies” at The Surf Lodge the weekend prior. After a heated 10 minute debate on whether Margot Robbie or Megan Fox would win in a wet T-shirt contest, he leaves you to it with a nod of approval. You are absolutely astonished that he thinks Margot Robbie isn't the obvious winner. As he waddles away to inject his peptides, you think “this guy's lowkey a chiller” and make a mental note to tag along on his next Hamptons outing.

11:30am: As you flip through the CIMs your staffer dropped on your desk, you feel a buzz from your phone. Your buddy from your frat PC who’s also working in the city—but at a much inferior institution (think UBS/KPMG/DSNY)—invited you to happy hour later tonight. Unfortunately, you can’t afford to waste precious brainpower on anything other than DCFs and maximizing shareholder value right now—and swiftly return to re-aligning logos 1-2 millimeters to the right and left in your slide deck.

5pm: After slaving away on powerpoint for what feels like eternity, it’s time for a dinner break. You excitedly scroll through Seamless’s newest offerings for 20 minutes (you put more effort on choosing dinner than your actual deliverables) and eventually settle on sticking with good ol' Naya. After maximizing your order for protein per dollar and scheduling a 6:30pm delivery, you slip out of the office for a quick chest pump at the Equinox down the street (you haven't hit legs since sophomore year).

6:30pm: You slam through your bowl (with triple chicken) in seconds, leaving yourself wishing you just ordered something tastier like 7th Street Burger like the rest of the analysts. The meal wasn’t even on your plate long enough for the hot intern whom you’ve been eye fucking to comment on how health-conscious you are. Feeling down, you decide to open up Hinge to make yourself feel better. No new likes, but one new message. Excitedly, you open up the message, but it's just some girl turning down your invitation to grab drinks. No matter, you think to yourself. I work in Investment Banking at a BB. An absolute catch I am, she’d be lucky to lick my Gucci penny loafers that I wore to prom 5 years ago—you think to yourself (you’re 5’9 with a receding hairline and on track to be bald by next July).

7pm: Although it's your second week on the job, you already feel months behind schedule. With the blockbuster merger between Amazon and Grindr rapidly approaching, the pitchbooks won’t exactly be making themselves, you tell yourself. You hurriedly shoot a few more emails to the staffer and your VP about “feeling underwater and being staffed over capacity” before you throw the rest of your stuff in your backpack. As it turns out, meatriding Conrad earlier has paid off; he let you get out a few hours early. When your MD finally makes a trip to use the restroom, you make a break for the exit. It's all about the optics, you think to yourself as the elevator doors shut before anyone notices. Time to shmooze at happy hour with the boys.

7:30pm: The Spaniard is lively, with $5 drafts flowing freely and plenty of fellow analysts that you recognize from your Red Lion intern days. You’ve been unsuccessfully trying to chat up this bombshell named Lexi—works at Jefferies, models for Wilhelmina on the side (she’s been staring at Thad the entire time) (Goldman Sachs, 6’2, Rolex Daytona, 5.8 inch penis: curves slightly left). You realize it might be a lost cause and throw in the towel... and immediately start making your way towards Meredith, a homely-looking brunette who you can imagine was hired purely due to her financial modeling capabilities. You resign to, yet again, settling for less—but reassure yourself that it’ll be different once you lateral to PE/VC/HF. Meredith catches you checking her out and gives a slight wave back. You take a hefty swig of your now lukewarm Heineken and crack a wry smile. This is what it's all about.

Ahhhh, being a bouse mogger is paradise.