“Fuck you. That’s my name. You know why, mister? You drove a Hyundai to get here. I drove an eighty-thousand dollar BMW. THAT’S my name. And your name is your wanting. You can’t play in the man’s game, you can’t close them – go home and tell your wife your troubles. Because only one thing counts in this life: Get them to sign on the line which is dotted…That watch costs more than your car. I made $970,000 last year. How much’d you make? You see pal, that’s who I am, and you’re nothing. Nice guy? I don’t give a shit. Good father? Fuck you! Go home and play with your kids. You wanna work here – close!”

This is the movie clip my (soon to be ex) coworkers watch every morning.  And they believe every word of it. 

I find it sad that money is the only thing that matters to them.  They all have wives, girlfriends, one of them has a small daughter.  But they’re always here.  They’re always in the office.  And that’s fine – I can respect being passionate about your job.  Hell, I’m about to launch into freelance writing and I will be on it ALL THE TIME.  But I don’t mind, because I love it.  That’s my path.

The thing I have a problem with is their habit of demeaning anyone who disagrees with them.  It doesn’t make you a better person if you drove here in an $80,000 BMW.  Who. Cares.  You place value on someone because of their material possessions?  That speaks volumes about your character, e.g., you’re a SHITTY person.  I will bet all that money that you’re not going to be lying on your deathbed thinking, “Well, I sure am glad I worked so many hours and made all that money.”  You’ll be lying there, filled with regret, because you missed your daughter’s first steps.  She cried when you came home and picked her up because she didn’t recognize you.  But hey.  At least you made millions and had a nice house and a nice car.  That’s something.

If I ever become as shallow and money obsessed as these people, I want someone to put me out of my misery.  That’s no way to live – life is too short to be a rude asshole.  Get a grip.

So I’ll gladly drive my almost 10 year old Hyundai around, because I’m happy with my life, my (future) job – and I don’t measure my success by the number in my bank account.  I win.