chapter
4
Damn clients
1988 – Nippon Saiwai Bank, Cannon Street, London
My rst job in the City came by accident. It was my second
year of university and I applied for a summer job to do ling
at a sleepy Japanese bank near Cannon Street station. The
recruitment consultant had sent me there even though I had
no previous experience, knowledge of banking or obvious
administrative skills. But she told me I looked the part,
and I’m still not sure whether the remark was meant as a
compliment.
The marble reception hall of Nippon Saiwai was chaos. They
were in the middle of a reorganisation and stacks of plastic
crates made it impossible to move. A builder started drilling
and a man speaking into the rst mobile phone I’d ever
seen told him to stop or nd another job. A woman with a
clipboard asked me to ll in an application form. ‘You must be
here to see Jerry Witts,’ she said and I nodded, not knowing
any better. I like to think she identied my innate ability and
hidden talents but, as I sat there shaking in a twelve-quid suit
from the Kidney Research charity shop and my dad’s tie, I
doubt it.
Jerry Witts, it turned out, was the man with the huge mobile.
He didn’t look up from his paperwork. ‘I’ve no time,’ he started.
‘Your CV looks OK. A job for the summer, eh?’
‘Yes. Er, please.’
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