“How you do one thing is how you do everything”
Marshall Faulk
In finance, they don't teach you at university that your first year might involve more donut deliveries than deal-making. I barely knew what Thanksgiving was—let alone why it warranted a public holiday. But with US markets closed, the European trading floor was unusually calm. A perfect chance to become the person everyone remembers.
Krispy Kreme had just opened their first UK store—in Harrods of all places. The launch was already legendary for its long queues and that unmistakable smell of glazed perfection.
Mark Rooney - Roons - was my direct boss on the JP Morgan Sales Trading desk. An incredibly innovative and creative person - with a passion for all things food and drink.
Mixed with his Scouse wit and that sales-trader's paranoia of staying relevant, he was always cooking up ways to be liked and stay in the mix.
“Morgs old fruit - what do you reckon about delivering Krispy Creme donuts to all our clients today? Bit of fun for Thanksgiving, no?”
That's what he said to me shortly after 9am on Thanksgiving once we’d cleared our morning emails and calls.
“Sure Roons - why not!? Let’s do it”.
I applied to 19 graduate finance programs in my final year at LSE—and got rejected by 18 of them.
JP Morgan was the only one left. So yeah, a lot was riding on that interview.
I was aiming for a seat on the equity sales and trading team—a part of the market born in the open-outcry pits, built by barrow-boy traders with sharp elbows and sharper tongues.
But it was the early 2000s. Open-outcry was out. Electronic trading was in. Investment banks now filled entire floors in the City and on Wall Street—rows of screens, phones, and terminals keeping the markets moving and the money flowing.
The head of the sales-trading team, Nick Johnston, was the poster child for a City trader in the early 2000s—clean-shaven, perma-tanned, slicked-back hair, razor-sharp suit, and a smile engineered to charm anyone into saying yes.
His questioning was tough but fair. He wanted to know if I could handle pressure, make quick calls, and fit in with both the team and the bank’s clients. The consummate salesman, he swept in, grilled me, and was gone just as fast. I was sold—I wanted in.
Then came Jules Parmenter, head of the trading team. Total contrast.
He strolled into the room barefoot, polo shirt untucked, a crumpled, coffee-stained copy of my CV in one hand and a mug of tea in the other. Grinning like the cat who got the cream, he didn’t even sit down before calling out, “Hello Taffy!”
{Taffy—slang for someone from Wales, derived from the River Taff in Cardiff—wasn’t exactly a compliment.}
I burst out laughing and instantly felt at ease.
Jules didn’t care much for my academic credentials or what I’d been reading in the FT. Instead, we talked about the sorry state of Welsh rugby and the rising form of the English team—something that clearly delighted him.
His parting advice? “If you join the team, just don’t be one of those annoying Taffys!”
(I later found out he was half-Welsh.)
When I got the offer to join JP Morgan, I was relieved—but also a little conflicted. I’d hoped to be hired as a trader, but they offered me a role as a Sales-Trader. Still, the teams worked so closely together that it felt like I’d get the best of both worlds.
After signing the contract, I got a call from HR to get set up. They told me to reach out to the desk directly to introduce myself—but added that Nick Johnston had left. I should ask for someone named Simon Taylor.
So, I picked up the phone.
Them: “JP!”
Me: “Hi, this is Morgan Johnson. Could I speak to Simon Taylor?”
Them: “Who?”
Me: “Morgan Johnson. I’m the graduate joining this summer. HR told me to speak to Simon about coming in to meet the team.”
Them (muffled): “Si… some guy on the phone says he’s a grad joining the desk…”
Other voice: “What? Did we hire a [profanity] graduate? Anyone know about this? [Profanity]! HR always does this. Put him through.”
Simon: “’Ello son! Simon here. How are you? Can’t wait to have you join us—when are you coming in?”
Let’s just say that the first interaction didn’t exactly fill me with confidence.
But my visit to the desk helped. Simon, with a straight face and a glint in his eye, offered this gem of advice:
“Don’t fail the training program. But don’t get too high a score either—or we’ll know you weren’t having any fun."
Back at the desk after 10 weeks in NYC—with a suitably solid but not-too-high programme score—I set out to be useful in any way I could.
I was assigned to the UK Institutional team under two characters: Mark Rooney, a larger-than-life Liverpudlian, and Stephen Harley, a dry-witted, dour Scot.
But as the desk graduate, I belonged to everyone—sales, trading, you name it. About 30 people in all.
Old-school City types called the role “the Jub.”
My daily tasks? Anywhere from five to 25 coffees from the Starbucks on the trading floor. Breakfast runs from the basement canteen. Friday team lunches—usually paid for by whoever was last to arrive after the Thursday night antics.
I carried skyscraper-high stacks of Katsu Curry from Wagamama and memorised everyone’s lunch orders and condiment quirks. I fetched dry cleaning, queued for new mobile phones, and once cleared out the local hardware store of air fresheners—after Simon Taylor’s profanity-laced complaint about personal hygiene and bodily gases on the desk.
But I was always looking for ways to go above and beyond.
So when Roons suggested delivering Krispy Kremes to our entire client list on Thanksgiving, I was in.
Same-day order of 1,200 donuts from the hottest shop in London? No problem.
Hiring a cabbie to follow a circuitous route as I made deliveries? Easy.
Finding space in the back of the cab with 100 boxes of sweet-smelling donuts? Now that was the challenge.
But I got it done—met a bunch of clients—and had the whole floor talking about our team by the end of the day.
“Yes, and…”
That simple phrase—the golden rule of improv comedy—was also the unspoken mantra of every graduate on the trading desk since time began.
Say yes to everything. Be useful. Be everywhere. Solve problems before they even arise. And always do it with a smile and a skip in your step.
The rough and tumble of finance in the early 2000’s, meant that doing anything and trying to make yourself useful had a sharp edge and a steep precipice if you didn't quite make it.
A few months later, I overheard Simon and a few of the other older guys talking about this new miracle blue pill that had come out in America and did wonders for men their age.
I saw a chance to shine.
I told them I could get them some of these pills if they wanted. When they asked how I said I knew a guy who knew a guy.
The guy I knew was my tutor from my boarding school, who had become a great mate, was essentially the reason I had gone into the city rather than study medicine and who seemed to know someone for everything.
The guy he knew was “Keith”, who lived a couple of hours south of London on a farm. So after a very brief and shrouded conversation with Keith on the phone, I jumped in my trusty Fiat Punto that Saturday and drove to Kent.
We sat at his kitchen table, drinking tea, while he explained the array of products available to me - ranging from basic medical substances to stuff far stronger (and more illegal!).
I stuck to the script and bought 100 little blue pills for £500.
That Monday morning I was welcomed onto the desk like a conquering hero - and much to my surprise, rather than me being out of pocket for my initiative, Simon insisted that anyone who wanted one had to pay me £20! I was sold out within minutes and £1,500 quid better off!
But it was never about the money. It was about solving problems people didn't even know how to articulate. About becoming the person everyone turns to first—because you've proven you'll find a way, legal or... well, slightly grey.
A few months later, I carried out a similarly entrepreneurial project, burning a stack of DVD’s for a popular but unobtainable movie of a famous Baywatch star, which the team again paid me handsomely for.
When I got the call to meet with the head of Human Resources nine months into my time on the desk I wasn't sure what to think.
My concern spiked when I walked in and saw not just Simon, but also Lee Cook—the head of European Equities—waiting.
They started out by telling me how well I was doing but that they needed to discuss something unusual.
The football European Championships were taking place in Portugal that summer. The desk had rented an eight-bedroom villa just outside Lisbon for the duration of the tournament.
Would I be willing to house-sit the villa and drive clients and my team members around as they came in and out for the games? The only catch being I wouldn't be able to drink - but I would be able to go to all the games they went to.
In between games and when the house was empty, I was expected to find the best bars and restaurants and secure reservations and special treatment for us when we were there.
It seemed like a wind-up.
HR explained that since this wasn’t in my contract, they needed to ensure I didn’t feel pressured into saying yes.
OF COURSE I WOULD DO IT!
Portugal wasn’t just a great experience—it was a turning point in my graduate life.
By being around, meeting and essentially building relationships with all the best clients of the desk, my reputation was truly established.
Everyone came back from their trip with the highest praise for me - both as an organiser but also as a person to be around. A common refrain was “That guy cannot be the jub any more”
Traders and Clients
A few of the clients even offered to let me be their official coverage, to kick start my career, if the existing coverage person was happy to give up the account.
I couldn't believe it - my hustle had paid off!
All I had to do was hire my replacement.
My advice to him? Be indispensable.
Twenty years later, I still carry that lesson with me.
In a world obsessed with specialisation, there's profound power in being the person who simply says "yes" and figures it out later.
Who sees obstacles as puzzles to solve rather than barriers to stop at.
Whether coaching founders through rough patches or navigating my own challenges, that "everything guy" mentality has never left me. Because when you're willing to do what others won't—whether it's driving two hours for dubious pharmaceuticals or managing a villa full of rowdy traders—you create your own luck.
And sometimes, that luck changes everything.
What opportunity are you saying "no" to today that might change everything tomorrow?
