Jukebox Years (Intro)

I’m not sure how it all began, but it seems as if it was decades ago when I stumbled upon the streets of Boston like fire raining down from the heavens. Those days are long gone, but hot damn they were inspiring times! Despite the chaos that September 11 left, I reveled in its aftermath; thinking that at any point a missile would land at my doorstep and wipe me and the rest of us to Kingdom Come. Those were dark times, when decadence and fear ruled. The only cure was to drink as much alcohol as possible, and hope that the end came swiftly, amidst the writing on the wall.

It was February 2001 and I needed to get the hell out of Dodge; in this case Dodge was a company called Stonewall Investments. I was 25 years old and going nowhere fast; stuck in a thankless glorified operator job with a bunch of deadbeats and unfulfilled souls. I desperately needed change. Recently married and looking towards the future, I began to sift through the Internet for work. My buddy Steven was also at the end of his rope as we shared a common pessimism about our worthless jobs. We both struck quickly. Steven had contacted a recruiter in Boston, and within two weeks he had landed a job in the city at a small financial firm. He selflessly gave me the recruiter’s number, knowing full well that I was about to unleash mayhem at Stonewall unless I found something else quickly. The end had already begun.

I became a malcontent, doing less than the bare minimum, being a regular pain in the ass, belligerent and completely unruly. I even walked uninvited to my manager’s office and openly mocked him about how incredibly important I thought my job and his job was. It was time for a fresh start. I called the recruiter and quickly landed an interview with him. I remember him as a redheaded man in his late twenties; probably someone who once had a dream, but had now settled for a stool job at an empty desk; a desperate ending that I did not want any part of. I recall his office looking more like a jail cell with him playing the part of a helpless inmate. In a matter of two weeks I scored three interviews with three different companies, until the big one bit.

It was a mid-size financial firm in Boston called Standard Investments. My interview with the hiring manager was an awkward experience where I rambled about my so-called analytical background in marine biology, and he stared at me with that deer-in-the-headlights looked reserved for the dumbest of beasts; but he hired me. Unknowingly, I had walked into a bear trap of sorts. A psychopath was going to be my boss; a simpleton at that. One of those guys they usually find strapped to a chair with a baseball bat up his ass. The type the neighbors usually recall “pissing in the middle of the street” or “the one with the crazy look in his eyes, ready to stomp at any time”. I was in for a ride. It was March of 2001; year one of the Jukebox years...