The forty hour work week may be considered the benchmark in American work culture, but it’s nothing more than a fairy tale for those of us caught up in the “you’re only as good as your last trade” world of equity trading. I’ve been a sales trader for 15 years and like most of us, the majority of my waking hours are spent in the trading room. I have worked for wholesalers, bulge bracket, boutique firms and no matter where you go… all sell side trading rooms are exactly the same. If you work in a trading room, you work in one seriously fucked up environment. It’s like Romper Room, a college road trip, the Twilight Zone and Alcoholics Anonymous all rolled up into one.
People don’t get it unless they’ve been exposed to it’s mutating radiation. Outsiders could never get a true feel for trading room life unless they’ve actually worked on a desk for at least 6 months and had their livelihood depend on the desk’s production. Once the initial “Wow I work on trading desk” cloud begins to lift, you soon
realize that the trading isn’t all that difficult (unless you’re the jack off to my left). It’s about bids, offers and following instructions. The trading room itself however, is very sophisticated (in a room full of retards kind of way). The trading room is a living, breathing, shape shifting life-form composed mostly of overinflated self worth, tremendous egos and quirky personalities. Understanding trading is one thing, but in order to advance on a trading desk you need to become a master of psychology (or at least figure out how to deal with the d-bags amongst you).
After a week , one of the first things you begin to realize is that something is missing. Apparently, the institutional equity profession has been grandfathered against those pesky equal opportunity employer laws that the real world is forced to abide by. It’s creepy. There are no minorities on the trading desk, there are no women on the trading and to take it one step further, there aren’t even pictures of women on the trading desk. Every married man on a trading desk who has children only has photographs of his children… or him with his children. It’s bizarre. It’s one of the unspoken trading commandments. “Though shall not place photo’s of you’re spouse or significant other on your desk for others to see. It makes you weak. Only pictures of your kids… or you and your kids are allowed.” Personally I think it’s fucking weird when you walk around the desk and see dudes with goofy pictures of themselves holding up their kids. People aren’t stupid. They know those kids came from somewhere. We have one guy on my desk who has this framed 5×7 of himself all tanned up after a vacation holding onto his son. The kid’s not even looking at the camera, in fact, all you can see is the back of of the little dude’s head and this guy seems to think it’s perfectly OK to frame his “look at my tan” picture and display it for the rest us. Aren’t we lucky. Take five minutes, go walk around your desk and you’ll see what I’m talking about.
Between stress, drinking like we’re going to the electric chair three times a week and the fact that most traders have their first heart attacks by age 40, you’ll find more prescription medicine bottles lining the tops of trading desks than you would in a nursing home. It’s almost like if you don’t have at least two bottles on your desk, your not a real man. And I guarantee if you rummaged through everybody’s drawers, you’d find more TUMS than you would staples and paper clips combined. TUMS are like M&M’s for traders.
Jimmy (the only guy on this desk who has more issues than me) always has a box of Medicated Tuck’s Pads on his desk. I don’t care if he’s got hemorrhoids or what the fuck he stuck up his ass to get them, but I certainly don’t need to be starring at this box all day. And to make matters worse (and kind of creepy), every time this doofus heads for the bathroom, like a 9 year old boy would proudly carry his sling-shot, he’s got this green plastic travel size container of baby wipes sticking out of his back pocket. Freak.
Walk into a trading room, pick any random circus freak and spend just ten minutes with him. I guarantee nobody understands the business better than he does, other people including management don’t know what their doing and if you happen to be there while he’s in the middle of a trade, I bet he’s incapable of getting a trade on without second guessing either the trader, the client on the other side or the execution quality. They’re all the same. Everybody is so smart. Another interesting fact about trading room personnel is that no matter what role they play, traders are more of an expert in everybody else’s job then they are.
Sales traders are forever saying shit like “This fucking guy forgets where he comes from”… “If I ever get to the buy side, I won’t be such a dick” and “Fuck the VWAP. Do you want to buy it or not?”. You hear it all day. As for clients, they’re constantly beside themselves – always thinking things like “Why can’t this guy just follow simple instructions!?”… “What the fuck!”…. and making our days complete with comments like “Did you really need to knock the stock down forty cents just to sell 15,000 shares?”…. and one of my favorites “Just be smart about it.”… What the fuck is that supposed to mean anyway? And let’s not forget the position traders…. poor position traders, by the time the order goes from portfolio manager – to the buy side tool – to the slippery sales trader, he’s got fifteen sets of instructions and needs to make everyone happy. He’s not really sure who’s complicating things, but one thing he does know is that he could have done a better job formulating a game plan. Everybody’s just so smart.
Take Michael (aka The Teacher) for example. Mike’s so smart he’s “studying” for his CFA. He’s had that book on his desk for three years now and the only time he picks it up is when somebody walks over, plays his little game and asks “So… what’s that you’re reading?”…. The teacher deepens is voice, sticks out his chest and replies “I”m getting ready to take the CFA”. Dude – Shut the fuck up. There’s two inches of dust on that book, you probably found it on the E-train and you’re lucky if you can order an egg fuckin’ sandwich.
Sell side trading rooms are so fucked up that when someone has a client coming up to visit, management distributes group emails and out of fear gets on the hoot three times prior to the visit warning us to tone it down and act like normal people. It’s crazy. My trading room manager will literally get on the hoot, “OK listen up guys, the client is in the elevator and will be here any second. I want you guys on your best behavior.” Suddenly my trading room is a scene right out of the Stepford traders or Invasion of the Trader Snatchers. And if only for a short time, despite the fact that everyone is wearing Halloween masks, you catch a glimpse of what it must be like to work in the nicey-nice, Brady Bunch world of Corporate America. “Hey Billy – I’m going to the kitchen. Can I get ya something?” … “No thanks Bobby, but thanks for asking.”… Fuck that, sold to you and bring on the demons.
Enjoy your day and all the deficiencies that comes with it,
Dopey
