Whether it’s New York, KC or any other Wall Street trader function, they’re all the same in that you’ve got twenty-five hard-up for business brokers for every one client. But at least in the Midwest people tend to have less edge and be themselves (which would be even better if most ticket monkeys weren’t assholes).
Typically to get more then three minutes of customer airtime at these things is a pipe dream – especially if you’re a newbie or somebody who’s never met the client before. You don’t go to these things expecting to talk shop or promote your firm. You go to engage in something I call ‘Defensive Drinking’ which means you go because all of your competition is going and you don’t want to be the only coverage guy who’s perceived not to care enough about the attending clients to make the trip. I love this business. Carpenters have trucks filled with tools, doctors have medical instruments and what do we have..? We have 1001 excuses to drink.
For every customer you spend 5 minutes with at these events, you’ve spent 20-30 minutes stalking them. In other words, in order to get 20 minutes of combined client time – you need to spend somewhere between 2 and 3 hours of prowling around like a hyena. Broker-to-client time may be where it’s at, but it’s that superficial broker-to-broker time that I find the most entertaining. There’s nothing better than two brokers pretending to have a conversation with each while they eyeball clients.
Just this past Thursday, at the Kansas Spring Outing, I was talking to this one brokertard who was clearly using me for small talk while strategically placing himself back-to-back with Steve from Blackbeard Capital. Steve was deep in his own painful conversation with an algo-monkey from Bones Trading. This doofus wasn’t listening to a word I said and do you think that bothered me? Nope – not at all. You know why? Cause I was busy staring at the bathroom door on the other side of the room waiting for Dean from Pucker & Schmitt to walk out so I could grab his ear.
I wish I could film all the empty broker conversations that go on at these things and show my non-Wall Street friends how sophisticated high finance really is. 150 people taking turns staring at each other’s lips moving, not listening, the whole time waiting for the chance to talk to somebody else who matters. Every single light in the place was on and not a soul was home.
Since you spend so much time jockeying for position that when you get your chance, you take it. Don’t worry about the tool you were using as filler… it doesn’t matter who’s turn it was to say “blah blah blah”.. just do like every other rude fuck does and keep your eye on the prize, just say “Talk to you later” (no eye contact needed), leave them for dead and grab the client. Once you have their attention, you better look alive and have something better to talk about other than the weather. Don’t worry about the two coverage guys hovering behind your client’s head like fruit flies – that was you only five minutes ago. Remember, even if you’re really good at this, you’ve only got 5 minutes tops so keep the conversation interesting.
For me there’s always been something about Kansas City that makes it special. And despite the broker rituals mentioned above – KC functions always end up being a good time.. In fact, I have so much fun that it’s a problem for me. I’ve been traveling to Kansas City for eighteen years and in all that time I have only managed to make my flight the next day ONCE. I’m not exactly sure what happens when the outings are over and we invade the bars but the bartenders are definitely heavy handed and drinks seem to go down easier then anywhere else on Earth. I love Kansas. Although I know too well that if I lived there I would be dead by now. Maybe it’s a Midwest thing but people are extra friendly and everybody just wants to have a good time. I just wish I could remember more.
Speaking of not fuzzy memories and flashing back to the KC Holiday party this past winter … I remember waking up in my hotel room to what I thought was God speaking to me around 9AM, “Bro – didn’t you have an 8 o’clock flight?” I nearly jumped out of my skin. It wasn’t god – not this time. It was one of may career long accounts (technically he’s still an account even if he doesn’t write tickets with me anymore) and he was in the other bed. Since some client buddies drive into Kansas City from more rural areas I always get a room with two beds and more often then not, the other one gets used. After spending 20 minutes trying to recall the prior nights events, I realized that in the late night hours it was decided that two clients with nowhere else to go were supposed to crash in my room – but we were missing a person.
Missing client, Scott, was driven into town for the party by Dave, who was in the next bed frantically searching through his cell phone for text messages that would hopefully give him some clue as to his coworker’s whereabouts. I attempted to do the same, but my phone was dead. I pried myself from bed and plugged my phone into it’s charger on the desk. That’s when I noticed the bag and the door. There on top of the hotel desk was a big green leather pocketbook and for some reason the chair that should have been by the desk was holding the door to my room wide open. What the fuck? I looked over at Dave and asked, “Dude – Is this you’re bag?” Still thumbing through his phone, “You’re not really asking me if that’s my pocketbook are you?”, and then suggested that I check the bathroom to make sure nobody was in there – which was a very good idea and I did so immediately after closing the door to the room. Nope, nobody in the bathroom.
Dave, having a tough time making sense of his late night/early morning drunken text messages, was still trying to figure out where his buddy was and all I wanted to know was who’s bag was in my room. Naturally I went through the bag which contained her wallet, a couple credit cards, $27 dollars ($2 of which I later borrowed for coffee), and her drivers license. The license revealed the owner was a 26 year old portly gal from Chicago… She was the kind of girl that the butterfly-breeding psychopath from Silence of the Lambs would have loved to be rub down with lotion.
Neither of us had much recollection of the hours between 2 and 4AM but one of us should have had some idea where that bag came from. That girl in the picture didn’t even look a little familiar. There was no sign of any inappropriate ‘activity’ in either of out beds… Has my drinking become that much of an issue? Am I now mugging fat Chicago girls in Kansas? Nothing about that bag made sense.
Dave eventually reached Scott on the phone. Scott had somehow ended up with Dave’s car keys and after numerous failed attempts to reach Dave’s shut off phone decided to sleep in Dave’s car. I don’t know what this guy was thinking when he decided his only option was to sleep in a car in the middle of Kansas in 10 degree weather. But giving credit where credit is due, even in his obliterated state, Scott not only had common sense enough not to drive, being a seasoned pro, he took Kansas City law into account. Since in Kansas you don’t have to be driving drunk to get thrown in jail. You can get arrested just for being in the car with keys… So Scott hid the keys somewhere the police would never find them before drifting into his drunken coma. However, the problem with finding really great hiding spots when your drunk is of course remembering where the spot is once you sober up. A couple hours later they eventually found the keys drove off for home leaving me with a green pocketbook and scrambling to book the next flight (which wasn’t until 3pm).
Did I say I love Kansas? I love Kansas. Even the other day after the Spring Outing I woke up around noon only to find my standard issue Brooks Brother’s blue blazer was ruined. Apparently someone thought it would look better with the front pockets torn off. I seriously hope it wasn’t me. I did however, have a black cowboy hat in my possession that I must of scooped up somewhere along the way.
Following the yellow brick road,
Dopey
