I was cooling down after a long and weary, fast and furious, almost record-breaking two wheeled commute.
Hunched over my blackberry I quickly sent enough emails to give the impression that I was in the office, (that is worth something when you think about it, that is worth some money) and then I stretched out my legs sipped my coffee, and turned to the Guardian crossword
It was a kid, early 20s, besuited, betied, hot-looking. I tried my hardest to glower
"Can tell me... I mean sorry to disturb you... but do you know.... I mean I thought that you would know: Which one is Morgan Stanley?"
I looked him up and down for a moment or two not, I hope, unkindly:
And the early morning sunshine darkened as the ghost of my interviews past returned to earth.
The interview where they kept me waiting... and waiting.... until I finally up-sticked and left. The interview-while-walking-around, the 'How do you value a knockout option?' interview, the 'What's so bad about inflation anyway?' interview, the time I was assaulted on the tube on my way to an interview, the flying back from New York overnight on Friday for a Saturday morning interview, and the 'I've read your CV carefully and I have to say I have absolutely no idea why you applied for this job" interview.
The dockland breeze blew chill, and around the edge of the square swayed the bourganvillea and roses of Jericho.
"Um, yes actually, it is an interview", he said, "how did you know?"
I smiled, I hoped enigmatically, "Never mind, hey well, best of luck with that, anyway! Morgan Stanley? Sure, of course I do: it's that one over there" and I pointed carefully at Barclays Capital.
For I have a dark side.
And one day he might write a blog and then he'll thank me for it.