After boozing it up at the Wisconsin Trader’s Conference and nearly two decades of attending these boondoggles, I’ve come to a few conclusions. For one thing, we certainly are an ugly bunch. Secondly, when you take an closer look at the name tag wearing hoodwinks who frequent these events, it’s not much different then watching Animal Planet.
It’s quite entertaining if you just sit back and watch. Typically 10% of the people at these things (20% at the Milwaukee conference) are nothing more than wasted airfare. Since many of these sales trading scavengers have no real relationships at the convention, they just do laps around the bar scanning name tags hoping to come a cross a client or muscle in on somebody else’s conversation. It’s best not to make eye contact with these weak-links. The last thing you need is to have one of these brokertards around when the photographer from Trader’s Magazine comes by. Before you know it you’re standing next to him in next months issue and socially blackballed for the rest of your trading life. When the photographer does start making his rounds (usually after about six drinks), you need to shoo the underachiever traders away from you as fast as possible – it’s like dorky broker hot potato. Seasoned clients are especially good at this game – they have to be.
To my surprise, unlike the STA ticket-monkey conference in NY, all of the major local clients were in attendance. But you know what happens when all the big clients show up? So do all the big asshole apex predator sales traders. Don’t let these guys and their friendly salesman exterior fool you. They go right in for the customer jugular and won’t let anybody else get within three feet. They have only one insecure goal and that’s to get “their” client away from the competition and all to themselves. From the get-go the cornered client often falls victim to the broker’s two year old “mine mine mine” mentality… “You want to get out of here and go get some dinner?” Bro – back the fuck off. He’s here for the convention… and you’re scaring him.
I saw this one group of rainmakers (three dudes from the same sleepy regional)… they were the only people wearing suits at this 85 degrees and sunny outdoor jazz in the park reception. I’m pretty sure they were sent to represent their firm but since networking clearly wasn’t a strength, they just huddled amongst themselves circle-jerking the entire time (But they looked good in their suits – really impressive). Way to get in there – thanks for making my job easier.
And then there was David the business card dispenser. I wasn’t there more than five minutes before this doofus made his way over. Don’t get me wrong, he was a really nice guy – but too nice. Like Richy Cunningham nice… and really fucking annoying. He had no problem striking up empty conversation with anyone standing next him. I think he was just happy to be there handing out business cards, and that’s what he did – to anybody who would take one. He wasn’t drinking (first red flag) and no matter what time of the evening you bumped into him, he was still smiling. “Hi my names David and work for JMP!!!!!! [Insert big Cheesy grin here] Here’s my card!!!! I have a hard on! Who do you work for!?” Fuck you David – that’s my name and I work for the stick your card up your ass company.
Clients are different in Milwaukee. They’re kinda of wacky- but I like it. I bumped into one client who I just met for the first time recently. He came across as a real wholesome Midwest family man until the subject of guns somehow came up. As it turns out, this guy has got quite the arsenal including two silencers. Silencers? Two of them? What the fuck is he doing with one – let alone two of them. I’m not one to kiss customer ass, but let me tell you… whatever this guy wants – this guy is getting. “No problem sir, you’re done in-line.” The last thing I need is this guy crawling around naked in the bushes outside my kitchen window wearing nothing but surgical gloves waiting for the right moment.
Meanwhile over in the center ring, another clients was leading the “Icing” Pack. If you’re like me then you have no idea what that means. You’ve probably seen Smirnoff Ice, there’s even a chance you’ve had one to drink, but what you may not be aware of is that there is an entire underground college-minded world out there running around “Icing” each other. Technically the ritual is known as “Bros Icing Bros” and from what I learned at the convention was that at any random moment some dude could whip out a Smirnoff Ice, presents you with it and if your eyes make contact with the bottle then the rules state you immediately have to drop down on one knee and chug it. If you refuse the drink you are “instantly excommunicated and shunned”. The only way you can avoid dropping and drinking is to pull out an Ice of your own and “Ice-Block”. According to the Icing bylaws, this is the ultimate Icing insult and you have now “reversed the ice on your bro” and he has no choice but to drop and chug both of them.
And yes this was going on during a Wall Street function… Bros Icing Bros… And it wasn’t just one or two. There were at least fifteen to twenty people involved. Dudes where pulling Smirnoff Ice’s out of there asses and Ice blocking…. It was crazy. I saw one father-time sales trader who had taken the train from Chicago get Iced and then pressured to get down on his knee replacement and attempt to chug it. It was sad. After spilling half the bottle all over his geriatric chest, I (of all people) had to help the poor bastard to his feet and over two a chair where he sat for the next hour. If I’m still going these conventions at his age – please, somebody put a fucking bullet in my head. (Easy Mr Silencer Client! – that’s just a figure of speech).
I could go on forever about the bar maid banging buy-sider, my circus act (that caused me to miss the convention fishing trip) and all the other characters at this conference, but… my trains pulling into Penn Station and it’s time to pull pitch.
People in this business are really fucked up – but it’s home.
Bring it,
Dopey
Side Note: If you’re traveling to the downtown Milwaukee area anytime soon, the Potawatomi Casino stinks (literally). Take it from me – I was there for two days and hit the casino three times. I have have no problem losing money – that’s kinda my thing. But what really wears on you after a while is the smell. It’s a decent Vegas style casino, but it was built smack dab in the middle of two slaughter houses and the air freshening system isn’t cutting it. The entire place reeks of sweet dead meat. It’s not so bad when you first walk in but after a few misleading lucky feelings and three or four trips back to the ATM, you want to throw up.
