The Desperate Bankers Club Does Paris
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The Desperate Bankers Club decided to go away for the weekend. Our daily routine of lunching and dining quickly made us settle on Paris. And we thought back on just a year ago when we still felt rich on the Continent.
So with the current exchange rate, we decided that 'Bistronomy' was much cooler (and cheaper) than Gastronomy. Besides, wasn’t it all about tasting real French food and the 'petits chateaux' after all?
After drinks with 'Continental' friends (comforting them that we were still surviving in London and that food stamps for ex-bankers had not been introduced yet), we decided to go to a small bistro in the 16th Arrondissement. The place was cute and the food amazing. By cute, I also mean quite tiny, and that made socialising with the table next to ours unavoidable. But actually, I'm not sure that socialising is the appropriate verb to describe what followed. Next to us were two retired, very French-looking men, who seemed more part of the furniture than visitors. One could actually have played Merlin the Magician, while the other one looked like your nightmare professor; we were convinced that both used to strike quite regularly back in their days.
Suddenly, after a few glasses, while Merlin the Magician had practically fallen asleep, the nasty professor - in need of entertainment - turned to us.
"You must be all bankers", he said with a condescending tone. "Only bankers come here anyway," he felt necessary to add.
Quite intrigued, I asked him what in his mind bankers looked like. "Do you mean boring-looking people wearing glasses?" I asked ironically. "A bit like you really," I felt necessary to add.
He never answered my question, but he became very vocal about how bad bankers were, and how they were to blame for all of his problems. Somehow that was very French. Even his local branch manager was at the heart of the subprime meltdown. "Merde."
To my astonishment none of us reacted; quite naturally I denied this 'sin' and pretended to work for Eurostar. Years of travelling had helped adding credibility to my newly found career, and just like that he calmed down and started smiling. He got very interested in my job, and specifically in my right to strike. At that point we burst out laughing and we were off the hook.
And although none of us can stop joking about that night and our new French friend, we all felt the awkwardness of the situation. Since when had it become socially unacceptable to be a banker?
After drinks with 'Continental' friends (comforting them that we were still surviving in London and that food stamps for ex-bankers had not been introduced yet), we decided to go to a small bistro in the 16th Arrondissement. The place was cute and the food amazing. By cute, I also mean quite tiny, and that made socialising with the table next to ours unavoidable. But actually, I'm not sure that socialising is the appropriate verb to describe what followed. Next to us were two retired, very French-looking men, who seemed more part of the furniture than visitors. One could actually have played Merlin the Magician, while the other one looked like your nightmare professor; we were convinced that both used to strike quite regularly back in their days.
Suddenly, after a few glasses, while Merlin the Magician had practically fallen asleep, the nasty professor - in need of entertainment - turned to us.
"You must be all bankers", he said with a condescending tone. "Only bankers come here anyway," he felt necessary to add.
Quite intrigued, I asked him what in his mind bankers looked like. "Do you mean boring-looking people wearing glasses?" I asked ironically. "A bit like you really," I felt necessary to add.
He never answered my question, but he became very vocal about how bad bankers were, and how they were to blame for all of his problems. Somehow that was very French. Even his local branch manager was at the heart of the subprime meltdown. "Merde."
To my astonishment none of us reacted; quite naturally I denied this 'sin' and pretended to work for Eurostar. Years of travelling had helped adding credibility to my newly found career, and just like that he calmed down and started smiling. He got very interested in my job, and specifically in my right to strike. At that point we burst out laughing and we were off the hook.
And although none of us can stop joking about that night and our new French friend, we all felt the awkwardness of the situation. Since when had it become socially unacceptable to be a banker?
Here Is The Writer : Miss Margaux
Miss Margaux is a Eurotrash banker in-between jobs who is enjoying London and has not packed her bags to go back to the continent like many others. At last she has the time to observe the city from a different and refreshing angle, and is amazed by the amount of clichés and fascinations going on around around the city.
view more articles by Miss Margaux
Article Comments & Ratings
MARIA CATERINA BOTTI 1st Jul, 3:03pm
Really like this article and the previous one!!!!!
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