The Bad Beginning: Part 2
Continued from Part 1…
It took a few weeks, but soon I realised that I was the only intern to have applied for a position in Barclays’ latest department. Why? I was unsure. Clearly there was something different about me…though I couldn’t quite put my finger on it just yet.
Soon enough, the Private Bankers presented their department’s purpose to my peer group of approximately 40 interns, and a moment of sheer disbelief befell my eyes. The cracks were starting to form…
My co-worker, Lara, asks:
“So, what do you think of the latest department: Wealth Direct?”
With love for my newfound purpose filling my heart, I was eager to hear their response. I was positive they would be just as proud as me about my team’s mission to help people better themselves; and become more independent with their finances.
Stood next to a man whose eyes were sharp as knives, a rotund figure with a surly voice answers:
“Well, to be perfectly honest, we think they are fluffy, useless and certainly going to lose money for the bank…”
…I was shocked. Hurt and upset, the glasshouse of my dreams came crashing down around me. Every intern knew that I worked in Wealth Direct and, after a sharp glance in my direction; they quickly averted their eyes. Some in agreement with the Banker — but most out of sheer empathy. They knew how much I adored my department and, in fact, the majority were incredibly enthusiastic about it too.
I realised then that this was not the world that any of us once knew. I was no longer a student at the London School of Economics, and they were no longer my friends…this was the real world. We were all here to look out for ourselves, and anything contrary to our self-gain was not to be delved into.
Call me naïve, innocent or simply an idiot: but my inner-voice explained the situation away as “simply a mistake”…
They had clearly misunderstood our intentions: we were here to help people, and in turn we would be helping the bank. In fact, I felt that we could work together! If they were to cross-sell our proposition alongside their own, they could build more trust with their clients by providing them with greater choice and, consequently, they should be able to increase the size of their portfolio more than ever before.
I didn’t have time to discuss what had just happened. Not even with my only true friend there, a fellow Londoner of Arab origin. She wore her heart on her sleeve, as most of us do: My only bright light along the dubious path of darkness.
Alas, I went straight to my manager and expressed my concern:
“They must not understand. We are helping them, helping the bank as a whole, and most importantly we are helping people!”
He responded, calmly and clearly:
“George, you are absolutely right. In fact, I am about to hire an internal communications person to sort this out: you do not have to worry about a thing.”
My fears subsided. I trusted in my intuition, and in my manager. I felt that this would create greater cohesion within the bank, and we would all live happily ever after…‘The End’. But alarm bells should have been ringing.
Why would he need to hire someone to communicate with them? Why can’t he just speak to them himself? What is actually going on?!
I let it slide. Soothed by his “words of wisdom”, I continued about my business. A self-review with Human Resources came along the week after and I openly discussed the situation with them:
“It’s brilliant that you have picked up on this George: You should do something about it!” Tanya shouts, delighted by my honest concern for the bank.
Without hesitation, I said: “No.” I explained that my manager had told me he would handle everything, and so there was nothing left for me to do.
Satisfied by my approach and, Tanya left the conversation there, and not a word was mentioned about the matter thereafter…or so I thought.
A week later, I was summoned into a surreptitious meeting with the Head of HR, her associate Tanya and both my managers (once upon a time, I had thought how lucky I was to have two people to support me in my new job). Little did I know that this meeting was to be the turning point for my entire life…
Myself and the other interns had just presented a team project we had worked on since the internship began — all the excitement and relief was still bubbling away inside me — but I had to contain myself. The speed with which I had been whisked away from my fellow interns after our speech was cause for concern. All at once, I had an overwhelming sensation that this conversation was not going to be fun.
In fact, I had felt something like this might happen for the entire week leading up to it. This underlying sensation had led me to act differently at work. I was more temperamental. Less enthusiastic. Simply put: I was uncertain. I knew that something, somewhere was wrong…
One day, my (second!) manager meets me privately to ask a simple question:
“George, what mood are you in? You seem…off…”
After a moment’s thought, I said to him quite succinctly:
“Mood Indigo.”
As a rather impressive number of creases stretched across his face, zigzagging their way into oblivion, I decided to elaborate: “It’s a song by Nina Simone. Don’t worry, I’ll send it to you.”
For your listening pleasure, below you will find this song — my mood in the week that led up to the moment that changed my life.
Do not be fooled, this feeling of indigo and violet, turquoise and blue, maybe a bit of cerulean too was nothing compared to how I was going to feel within seconds of my surreptitious meeting with…The Head of Human Resources…
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This post forms the second part of a greater story of epiphany and tragedy. If you would like to keep up to date, follow me here. If you aren’t interested in seeking wisdom outside of the bubble within which you exist…then sod off!
I joke…but not really.
❤ G
