This is syndication from The Epicurean Dealmaker.
It occurred to me the other day while trimming a pensive cigar, O Dearly Beloved, that, while I have slain (or hopefully at least severely incommoded) many dragons in these pages and sacrificed many billions of pixels on the Altar of Knowledge for the benefit of your education and illumination, I have perhaps been remiss in one important respect. I have written at length as to how (and why) a hopeful supplicant might enter the grand and glorious vocation of investment banking, and I have dilated at even greater length on what grizzled old veterans such as myself do once we have achieved our cushy sinecures therein. But I have distinctly overlooked the steps by and through which an eager young tadpole fresh from the leafy groves of academe transforms him or herself into a hoary old bullfrog barking orders and swilling scotch from a gilded lily pad.
This, I freely confess, is a lamentable oversight. For the metamorphosis through which said tadpole transforms itself into said bullfrog is neither simple, obvious, trivial, nor pain-free. Many (most, really) are the novitiates entering the holy precincts of my industry who never take their final vows, and few indeed are those who manage not only to climb the slippery pole to the even slipperier platform of Managing Director but also, mirabile dictu, to stay there. A young tadpole, just starting out, would be wise to learn the path lying ahead of her before she chooses to undertake such a harrowing journey. Let this post, then, serve both for my penance and your edification.
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