Money rules the world…
That at least is what I always thought growing up in the sleepy neighbourhood of Cavindish, Queensland. The lack of hustle and willingness to live the droning life of a nine to five never stood well with me, I always felt like I had more to give than that.
The benchmark set by an average town in Australia was something I already thought was way to ordinary for a man of my ambition. I don’t blame my parents for my upbringing however. The nine to five was a necessity to keep a roof over our heads and a meal in front of us as the ABC news would blare out from our old tv that deserved to be housed in a museum rather than our living room.
My incessant need to excel from the dull life burned deeply inside me from a young age. The finance report anchored by Alan Kohler would keep my ears perked most nights as I learned all things money markets from one side of the globe to the other. He was my hero. Having an economist on the tv as a hero was probably what set me apart from the other kids at school who preferred to fixate on the lives of sporting athletes, singers and influencers. Instead of playing sports on weekends or hanging around our local shopping centre I was reading. ‘Liars Poker’, ‘The bonfire of the vanities’, even ‘Investing for dummies’ would keep me up well past my heinously early bedtime (I made this point very clear to my parents on many occasions) of 8pm. It also didn’t make me the most popular kid in school, nor did I care really. As far as I saw it, I was getting a head start in life that they could only dream of.
My obsession on the stock market was what drove me from the time I woke up until the time I slept. Little did I know, the world of the money markets was some of the most debaucherous and un-godly places that I would ever find myself in.
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“Michael, you cocksucker, I’ve got 15 mill on the phone with me right now. Don’t fuck me around.” The rash language of a trader is something by now I’m used to. Simon was the epitome of this nature and this was one of the nicer things he’d scream my way.
The idea of Wall St at this point has worn me down to nothing but a zombie behind a screen. Simon was ever so politely asking me for the latest numbers in AT&T junk bonds, something that he finds joy in unloading to unsuspecting clients of his that probably don’t know their left foot from their right one.
His rationale was simple but adopted by almost every struggling trader looking to leave a mark in the firm; “Give me the dogshit so I can sell it to some schmuck and get it off our books.” For those that couldn’t find proper good product to sell that would make both parties money, this is the next best option. “Nothing makes upper management happier than getting losses off our books” he’d remind me every time he’s making a trade like this.
Little did he know, I had the numbers up on my screen already, I just liked when he squirmed a little. His face would get continuously redder and redder until he’d muster the energy to get his fat ass off his seat and tower over me. That’s usually when I give him the numbers. It is a dog-eat-dog kind of world in Wall St as I would come to find out. The bonuses you get are determined by how much money you made for the firm that year and how much better you are than your coworkers.
Bonus time always made me extremely nervous. I grew up with morals (one of the few in the firm so it seemed to me) so selling junk wasn’t my thing. That’s why I became an analyst which wasn’t a whole lot better. Now instead of selling the junk I was supplying traders the numbers so that they could do it. Being the odd one out with the other traders in the firm meant that I really didn’t fit in too well. Not that it mattered too much, my performances this year meant that it would be a miracle that I remained at the firm much longer.
” Michael, they want you in the bosses office now.” My heart races as I got the message from the secretary. This was the moment I find out if my bonus is going to be enough for me to live my life in the concrete jungle of New York or if I’m going to be packing my bags. After all, money rules the world.