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How I Terrified a Customer Service Rep Late One Night
Brooklyn is my beloved place, always in my heart. The twelve years I lived in Cobble Hill, Brooklyn were among the happiest days of my life. The quiet, tree-lined street where I had a small one-bedroom apartment was in the heart of activity. It took me an hour to walk to the corner store because we were a community and I knew most of my neighbors. Many were friends. So a walk meant bumping into them and exchanging all the latest gossip and news.
My apartment, on a one-way street, was quiet and restful. At night you heard the nightbirds calling and the crickets chirping.
Getting home on a Friday night without party plans, no problem.
Spring, summer or fall, you could call a neighbor, meet them outside on the steps with your beer or wine (or martini or Dr. Pepper) and chat, and talk to everyone walking by on their way home. Thoroughly entertaining. Interesting, funny exchanges.
It was a wonderful life.
Meanwhile, Wall Street bankers across the Brooklyn Bridge were sniffing that sweet cheap real estate air.
Every Bonus Season investment bankers would find out that they would be receiving $1 or $2 million or more in awards. These young…
