Back in my brokerage days, there was a tiny diner across from our office — greasy booths, burnt coffee, cracked tiles. No banker wanted to be caught dead in there… except one senior trader. Every day at 11:45 sharp, he’d sit in the same booth, eat the same $7 lunch, and study the same stack of charts. One afternoon, I asked him, “Why do you eat here instead of with the big dogs uptown?” He forked a piece of cold meatloaf and said, “Kid, the guys at the fancy restaurant are too busy impressing each other to make any real money. I come here to work. They go there to pretend.” Years later, he retired wildly wealthy. Most of the uptown crowd?Laid off, broke, forgotten. Lesson: Choose results over reputation. Success doesn’t care how glamorous your lunch table looks.