Since we last spoke, I have made a couple of changes to my life.
One, I got older.
Two, I got thinner. Still fat though, just smaller. And just as
short.
Three, I made a career change.
Know how I was a magazine writer? Yea…..I jumped….to the news desk. And for the last 7 months ladies and gentlemen, this drama queen you have come to know and adore and worship and most definitely missed…have been covering the business end of the news spectrum.
Finance news spectrum.
Bitches, I am a legit financial journalist. And I have never even
taken a damn account or even economy or even an “Intro to Finance 101” class in
my entire life.
Never.
However, my white, straight up corporate business card (no longer
sparkly pink one) now says:
Constant Drama
Financial Journalist
I had the most intense, batshit crazy three-longass
probational months where I was thrown head first into the financial world. The
first week started innocently enough. “CD, write a 50 words brief out of this
press release.” “CD, we need an update of that bank’s statement. Check the
database and just rewrite from there.”
Life’s pretty smooth sailing sailing when you’re a so-called financial
journalist with no finance background whatsoever when all you have to do is
rewrite press releases. Pretty, fucken smooth.
So yeah, the first week was…paradise.
And then it begun;
“We need someone to cover the stock exchange today. Who’s
not busy? CD, you know where Bursa Malaysia is? Get your ass there.”
“CD, I want the exclusive with Bank A’s CEO. By 4pm
today. Get it done.”
“CD, what was the financing structure of that syndicated
deal? What was the loophole? No loophole? Bullshit. Find it.”
“Eurozone. Interbank money markets. 1000 words. 9am, my
desk…..Why are you still standing there gawking at me?”
To say that it was rough, was an understatement of epic
propositions. The intense deadlines, the yelling, the running all over the
place, the whole harrasing CEOs for interviews, chasing economists for comments
and all the while learning about finance as you go was just fucken batshit
insane man.
The first month, I spent 6 lunchtimes crying in the
restroom. How utterly pathetic. But it happened. And I’m not ashamed that it
did. It was that bad. It was that intense. It was that stressful that I was up
at night just hanging out at the stock exchange page just so I’m updated and
won’t be caught surprise on Monday on whatever the fuck crashed over the
weekend.
It didn’t helped that the copy editor was a complete beast.
Up to three rewrites on most of my pieces, looking over her glasses and asking
“And…you have a degree in journalism?” in a spiteful condescending way.
It was bad. I thought of quitting a couple of times. But
I didn’t. Just kept going. Just kept learning. Just kept doing the rewrites.
Then, it was three months. Was confirmed, got a raise and suddenly…things were
rosy.
Apparently, baptism by fire is the way they do it here. And as it turns
out, that’s just the way a newsroom, a proper newsroom work. It is a fucking
warzone everyday and if you can’t fucking take it then you can pack up your
shit and leave.
There’s still yelling now and there’s still a shitload I
don’t understand but these days instead of being completely blindsided by the
finance world…I actually know what the fuck I’m talking about. Sort of.
Well, it has only been seven months. And I haven’t cried
in six. So…it’s good. I'm good. Good enough to have left over time to be back to blogging again.
