According to my ex-junior, who is now on the upper rungs of the corporate ladder, this generation of junior bankers have begun to self-righteously claim their lunch hours so they can do something to console their exhausted bodies and souls.
Some of them go to the gym downstairs at the expense of proper lunch and grab horrifically healthy protein shakes on the way back to the office. Some of the ladies, meanwhile, had gone out to get foot massages or pedicures before they returned to being stuck in the office until midnight.
For those who can’t afford to head out and had to remain glued to Bloomberg monitors, a HK$6,000-a-month organic salad delivery is how they make themselves feel less guilty.
I don’t want to sound like an old moaner but hearing all this I had a flashback to my youthful days when I used to reward myself with deep-fried food and hard liquor to celebrate the end of a dreadfully long day.
Alas, only if I were a few years — or a few decades — younger. As a surge of guilt fills my stomach, I will gulp down a glass of Scotch tonight while patting my love handles.