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[Copypasta]Don't use the "F word" on the trade floor
Just heard an employee use the “F word” on the trade floor, and immediately fired them. Maybe other funds will tolerate that kind of language, but don’t you dare talk about Fundamentals here.
Just heard an employee use the “F word” on the trade floor, and immediately fired them. Maybe other funds will tolerate that kind of language, but don’t you dare talk about Fundamentals here.
If PLTR hits 35 today I will wipe with quarter ply toilet paper and accidentally discover myself
Christmas for a wsb trader
As the tree blinks from white to red to green, you look at the void under the tree that previously held presents. Fewer this year than usual, but some.
How did you get here? Boredom? In March, you felt trapped with your wife and infant. You needed something to pass the time. Something you could throw yourself into fully.
“Are you coming to bed?” your wife yells down the stairs. It seemed harmless at first, but as the pandemic drew on, so did your investment. You’ll stop soon, though. “Soon!” you reply, and you hear her feet climb the steps.
The lights start to blink chaotically. You cringe because you could only afford the junk strands at CVS. Suddenly they halt—the alternation feature broken—on red. The red fills the room and covers your flesh. You look down at your hands, and they look like they’re bleeding. Like your calls.
After a time—hours?—you realize you’re sitting in complete darkness. Your lights have expired, worthless.
As the tree blinks from white to red to green, you look at the void under the tree that previously held presents. Fewer this year than usual, but some.
How did you get here? Boredom? In March, you felt trapped with your wife and infant. You needed something to pass the time. Something you could throw yourself into fully.
“Are you coming to bed?” your wife yells down the stairs. It seemed harmless at first, but as the pandemic drew on, so did your investment. You’ll stop soon, though. “Soon!” you reply, and you hear her feet climb the steps.
The lights start to blink chaotically. You cringe because you could only afford the junk strands at CVS. Suddenly they halt—the alternation feature broken—on red. The red fills the room and covers your flesh. You look down at your hands, and they look like they’re bleeding. Like your calls.
After a time—hours?—you realize you’re sitting in complete darkness. Your lights have expired, worthless.
Google employees complaints
Reading Google employees complaints about workplace is like watching Becky cry on social media how her life's ruined when she only got a new Hyundai for graduation instead of the audi she asked.
Bitch give me that 300k job and I will deal with "my voice not being heard" all day every day.
Reading Google employees complaints about workplace is like watching Becky cry on social media how her life's ruined when she only got a new Hyundai for graduation instead of the audi she asked.
Bitch give me that 300k job and I will deal with "my voice not being heard" all day every day.