Trading Places and Wall Street have been favorites among the financial community ever since they hit the silver screen back in the 80’s. They’ve always been a great source of one-liners for us industry professionals and for some, these movies signify much more than that and transport us back into time, a time where Wall Street traders were envied by all. We set the price.
Back in the 80’s, even the early 90’s, if you were a sales trader on Wall Street – you were the Mack Daddy. You would have thought the doctors, lawyers and politicians would have been at the the top of the food chain, but that’s not how it worked. Back in the day we hardly used email, there was no instant messaging and our phone calls were never recorded or listened to. Back then we even had a centralized trading floor known as the New York Stock Exchange. You may have heard of it, the NYSE was the ultimate men’s club and now its just a hand full of traders and clerks on life support, clinging onto some old-school relationships who can’t even read but tell fairy tales to those who will humor their broken spirits about how they can still be better served by sending orderflow to the floor when so little trading volume takes place there.
Not only did Wall Street’s power brokers control the markets, they ruled the nightlife. There were no limits, no restrictions and no curfews. “You want front row tickets to tonight’s sold out Phil Collins concert..? That’s done, just tell me how many you want and I’ll have the limo pick you up at your office after the close.” A five thousand dollar dinner at Sparks for the 3 of you was no big deal. Nobody gave a shit because the next morning when your client sent you an order to buy 200k shares of Microsoft and you make $100,000 dollars by 10am, which was a very realistic, it all made sense.
Strip clubs, limo’s, steakhouses, snow and $22 martini’s had become industry standards. We made our own rules as we went along. Restaurant managers loved us and our wives hated us but somehow it all managed to balance out. We may not have made it home every night, but the fact that she was driving around town in a new BMW and sporting the latest Gucci hand bag seemed to ease the pain.
Then what seemed overnight, thanks to Mister $4k a night Spitzer, a few over the top parties and some midget tossing, the now has become the past. These days we’re hosting client dinners at Applebee’s and need to show 5 customer names for every measly $100 spent. During the glory years your couldn’t go to a wedding or a house party without people coming up to you asking for stock picks, what you think they should do with their 401k or if you could help their nephew get into the business. You were a celebrity. Now-a-days on the rare occasion that I get invited to a party, I’m usually sitting by myself in the corner nursing a Coors Light and when somebody does comment on the job, it’s usually more like… “So, how you holding up?… If you ever want to try something else – I have a buddy who’s a big wig over at Walmart.”… Fuck that.
The reality is, is that when you consider the limited intellect of your typical trader, although no longer paid like sultans, the compensation is still way above your average school teacher and still more than most in the corporate world. Appreciate what you have.
Blue Horse Shoe loves Anacot Steel,
Dopey
