Trading Up

I pride myself on my cynicism. There is never a situation so messed up that I can’t shrug my world-weary shoulders and say “Well, what did you expect?” Every year Wall Street engineers some scandal of monstrous proportions; every year I refuse to be outraged. I expect the worst, and, I have to say, usually the worst is precisely what transpires.

But now I have met my match. Nothing, nothing I have seen on Wall Street begins to compare with the toxic mix of incompetence, arrogance and self-generated bad luck that follows Jimmy the Kid everywhere he goes. In the past I occasionally wondered if Sopwith was truly the basket case it appeared to be; Jimmy’s promotion has removed all my doubts.

Jimmy is now the titular head of the trading desk. He is also, without exception, the most abject trader I have ever met. He is the worst kind of sucker: he falls for everything. When the market is booming he gets greedy and buys right at the top. When the market crashes he panics and sells right at the bottom. He falls for every rumor making the rounds, he is a sucker for every con job, he is a walking mark. He prefers gossip to facts, handwaving to analysis, ‘gut feeling’ to intellectual rigor. And he intends to remake the trading desk in his image.

What’s more, Jimmy has reserved a special place in his grandiose plans for me. You see, I was one of the few people to give him the time of day back when he was a grub. (Most traders think that analysts are only good for fetching coffee and sandwiches; at the risk of sounding elitist, I have to confess that most traders are correct in this view). As a result he has decided that he will look out for me. Jimmy has appointed himself my mentor.

Am I depressed? Oh no, quite the contrary. Jimmy’s promotion is wonderful news for me.

Say what you will about our previous head honchos – Olympian, detached, aloof, unmotivated – they at least had the virtue of being good at their jobs. So I too had to be good at my job. Jimmy on the other hand doesn’t have a clue, so I can get away with anything.

It’s just a question of knowing how to play him. I know how to inflame his greed, how to amplify his fear, how to massage his ego, how to feed his lust for power. In addition, I flatter him shamelessly – I ask for his advice, I hang on to his words of wisdom, I praise his every move. I am Jimmy’s number one fan.

As a result, I can get Jimmy to do whatever I want.

Some of the other traders couldn’t hack this young whippersnapper telling them what to do; they’d rather quit than report to Jimmy. Fortunately I have no ego; all I care about is taking risk and making money. Jimmy is my man.

Let the good times roll!