KylePaice.com

It was our first day at the firm. They'd herded about a hundred of us fresh-faced college grads into a conference room built for fifty.

We all walked in with a deserved (we thought) swagger, because the hard part had been done. We'd gone to the right schools, gotten the right jobs, and were getting sweet compensation packages with big signing bonuses. Our lives were going to be on autopilot for the next forty years, during which we'd grow rich, happy, fulfilled, and generally be the envy of everyone we knew.

Then a bell rang. Thinking it was someone's mobile, I ignored it. As the sound got louder, I turned to see a thirty-something HR executive shaking a servant's bell in our faces. No one moved. We were told the bell meant it was time for us to take our seats. Her tone was patronizing, like she was speaking to small children (or someone about to jump off a bridge).

Looking across at everyone's faces, it looked like that scene in A Bronx Tale where Sonny locks the door to the Chez Bip and says to the biker gang, "Now you's can't leave."

Crap. I'd already blown away half my bonus on bars and other frivolous crap during my senior year of college, and -- judging by everyone's expressions -- I was pretty sure most of the others had too. We'd have to work for two years before our bonuses vested (meaning we were legally obligated to pay it all back if we left before then).

It was the ultimate "All Your Base Are Belong to Us" moment. For better or worse, they owned us. So I did the only thing that made sense: Lied to myself and said this sort of ridiculousness was an isolated incident.