Five p.m. came around on Halloween and I hit a random direct line on my phone turret.
"So you dressed up today?" I asked when the twenty-something chick that picked up the phone. I figured she was probably blonde and coke-addict thin by the way her tone spiked up so high at the end of her sentences, like crude oil when Bush moves more warships into the Gulf. The green light lit up next to the "DB" button just beyond my foot told me this particular girl worked at Deutche Bank (correctly pronounced "douche bank").
"Of course, it's Halloween! I didn't know you guys dressed up too!" Of course we don't. No self-respecting trader would dress up, but only a losing trader would give up crucial information when on the phone with the sell-side. That's why we're buy side and they're sell side.
"What're you dressed as?"
"An angel." Ah, the clincher. Perfect.
"I knew I liked you. You going out tonight?"
"Yea, a couple friends and I were going to go out. Wanna join us?"
"How about you join me. I have a table reserved at the Box."
"You're done." It's so cute when salespeople emulate traders. I smiled--this could be a good Halloween after all. The CSFB line rang on my turret and I had my TA pick it up. He yelled over that it was Rob. Our CSFB salesperson, Rob, is an old guy who should have been retired if he were any good at his job. Then again, he probably wouldn't be at CSFB if he were any good at his job. I figured I had no interest in answering his line past 5pm unless he was going to offer his first daughter to me as soon as she turned eighteen next month.
"Tell him I'm busy trading away from him in size." Come tomorrow he'd be calling every ten minutes wondering why we didn't call him for our trades today. Good--he should have to work for his sales credits.
Slapped my TA on the back and wished him a happy Halloween. We really ought to pay these guys more I thought as my hand separated from his analyst-fresh Gap shirt. At least enough to buy himself some second-rate clothes at Brooks Brothers. Oh well, we need them to dream, I guess. I looked at my trading log for the day and smiled. Not too shabby for a day's work.
Some buddies and I were shooting some pool at around 9pm at a local bar while watching some overly slutty looking police officers and nurses walk by together.
"Quit watching the scenery and shoot some pool." My buddy complained.
"You're just irritated that you're down three grand already, oh wait make that four," as I sank the eight-ball yet again.
"You're getting lucky."
"Yea, that's why I get paid, cuz I'm lucky." I rolled my eyes again, having heard this a million times from all sorts of risk people, washed out traders and bankers. I chalked up my cue paying attention not to get any on my Charles Tyrwihht shirt hanging over my jeans as an oddly short visibly minority guy stood around a few feet away. His all-too-big off the rack suit and helmet-head gelled hair made him look far too obviously retail-banker posing as someone important. I shook my head, sad that such people were frequenting my bar of choice when he looked over and stuck his hand out importantly.
"I'm Sam." he said in surprisingly unaccented English--as if anyone cared who he was. "I can't believe everyone's dressed so casually here. I just got off work! You guys live around here?" I looked him up and down--mostly down. His pointy black shoes that looked like they were picked up at a Payless Shoes in Jersey looked almost as ridiculous as the giant moo moo of a suit he was wearing.
"No, people hang out on a Wednesday at a local pub shooting pool in Manhattan when they don't live here. Who the fuck are you." I responded, almost sickened that this little brown turd was talking to me.
"I work for a small bank, you might have heard of it." He said while using his index finger and thumb to depict what could only be the approximate length of his dick. "It's called Bank of America?" I almost burst out laughing. Apparently this guy didn't know that his job was the laughing stock of the street, only behind of UBS and Wachovia at this point in the laughing stock rankings although Citi is getting close. UBS guys were probably still on the train making it back from their ghetto in Connecticut and who knows what Wachovia guys do down in Charlotte--they probably attend bible study after work or something. So as far as jokes that walk into a bar, he was about as funny as they got. Probably some kid who grew up in the South and thought he was a big shot in the Big Apple now. I almost felt sorry for him, except I didn't. I did, however, refrain from pointing out how pathetic it was that his suit overemphasized his shortness, and how his being in i-banking but getting out before midnight emphasized that he worked for the least respected sweat-shop on the street. I can be so kind sometimes. . . I even amaze myself. I returned, polishing my cue as another set of scantily clad angels and devils walked into the bar and shed their jackets. I winked at one of the angels before turning toward the table to win my next thousand.
Half an hour and a couple grand later, I was looking to waive down a waitress dressed as a stripper or something (apparnetly the Halloween costume of choice this year was "stripper" followed by "skank" and "whore").
"Another round for us and a four. . . looks like cosmopolitans for those angels over there." I said looking over my Versace glasses at our neighbors dressed as divine entities. Unfortunately their angelic and devilish powers couldn't keep our short friend from BofA away from them. I figured I'd help out their cause a bit. Again, I can be so kind sometimes. . . sigh. . .
Time came around to go to the Box, so we had to bid our little angels good-bye (of course not before getting a few numbers--just in case my salesperson was up for a three-some later). We cabbed it down to the Box, where I met my salesperson and a couple of other girls also in various sales roles (although not all of them are my whor--I mean, not all of them cover me). The Box was the one place where you couldn't really tell if it was Halloween or if that was just the normal state of things. Girls dressed as strippers was pretty much the norm there.
I dropped my salesperson back off at the office at the end of the night. Not a bad night after all.
