Where are all the bankers?

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Last Friday the papers had the front page news I had been waiting for.

The Banker’s bonuses had been announced!!! 
Ok, so they won’t get their money for the next couple of months, but they find out what was in the pot and how much they are going to receive for a years hard work (ahem!), so the theory is that last Friday should have been a night of rejoicing for the 10000 bankers at Citibank say, or the 4000 at Barclays and so on.  (My figures may be off here, but I’m trying to remember the Evening Standard article whilst hungover).
Even though I was dog tired, I dargged myself into the club on Friday night.  I keep an eye on these things, as one big night with a super rich client can be worth a whole week of normal nights.  I wore my favourite, but approachable dress – not too tarty, in a pretty white lace.  My hair was carefully waved, my eyes were dark and smoky – all in all, I was a dead ringer for the girlfriend they had always wanted, a Page 3 girl next door, a true high street honey. The banker crowd want to celebrate, I thought, not get so drunk that they go for the slappiest slapper with the biggest tits and blondest hair – thats more a Saturday night, stag do crowd.
As you can tell, I had high hopes for this evening.  I just needed to look good and stay alert to the waves of guys coming through the doors, pick carefully, and pounce!

I waited

And I waited

And I waited some more…..

Midnight came, and I had still not seen even one f**ging group of City boys!!!!  
I left the club early, at around 2am, sorely disappointed.  City boys, I don’t know where the hoardes of you happy boys went to celebrate your bonuses, but it is a sad day for us strippers of London when you can’t even go spend some of it on a pretty lady or two.
There are further announcements planned for the remaining banks bonuses – boys, once you get your good news, remember what Lou Mannenheim says in Wall Street;
“Kid, you’re on a roll. Enjoy it whilst it lasts, ’cause it never does.”
About author

sassy

Sassy by name, Sassy by nature, I write to explode the myths which surround the lapdancing profession - standing up for the clubs, the girls and the customers. Its not always drinking champagne and playing with my tits - it can be hassle, hustling and hangovers. At heart I'm just a regular twenty-something posh cockney living in London who likes taking her clothes off...

Comments
  • MonMouth#1

    January 16, 2011

    The overpaid middle ranks of banky-wankers have one claim to social utility – spreading the loot around. Clearly the trickle-down economics aren’t quite working as they should. The bastards are turning prudent, all of a sudden. It’s a disaster!

    Reply

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