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Dating a banker anoymous
Using customers' money to speculate like gamblers in a Las Vegas Casino, and losing so heavily that we, the taxpayers, have to bail them out to the tune of billions; welshing on the deal by consistently refusing to loan the money we've given them to small businesses, and then flying in the face of all decency by offering huge bonuses?
I hear that the more sensitive among them will avoid the stigma, by retrospectively upping some staff members' salaries to, say, last January.
He was recognized as a top 100 entrepreneur under the age of 30 by President Obama and one of the top 100 entrepreneurs under the age of 35 by the United Nations.
Neil has also been awarded Congressional Recognition from the United States House of Representatives.
Bankers were respected, admired and even in some cases, quite liked, for their fairness and honesty.
They served on committees and charities, they captained golf clubs, and were trusted with church collections.
You didn't have to be a brain-surgeon, banking was simple: you took in money from people who didn't want to hide it under the bed, put it in your big safe, and paid them interest.
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Then you loaned some of that money to people who needed it, at a higher rate of interest.
Jobs were hard to come by in the Ireland of the Sixties, and clerking in the bank was none too shabby a start for a fresh-faced eejit just out of school.
The triumvirate that ran many a small town were the parish priest, the police sergeant and the bank manager.
So, take a stroll down memory lane to remember all of our past Word of the Year selections.
It was either that or insurance, if you didn't want to emigrate, or spend what was left of your parents' money pretending to study for a degree that, in the end, would mean you'd have to take the mail-boat to Holyhead anyway. You had to pass an exam and do a month-long training course before you were deemed fit to face the public, and then it was still several years before you were allowed up from the basement, where you were allowed to sort files and lick postage stamps, to blink in the unaccustomed light and actually meet the customers. For it was a privilege to work for the bank, and, conscious of the honour, your parents were expected to subsidise you.