Out on the Street
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Out on the Street: Sushi is a Privilege
Each week, “Joe the Trader” chronicles his experiences with life after Wall Street.
As I was watching Federer dismantle Safin in the Australian Open in January, my 10-year-old daughter sighed.
“Oh Daddy, I guess since you don’t have a job we won’t be able to go to the US Open this year. I sure hope you get one soon because that was fun.”
She was referring to the weekend I was able to bring my three children and girlfriend to a luxury box, courtesy of Royal Bank of Client Entertainment. While my lady and I drank Veuve Clicquot and enjoyed watching Rafa and Venus play, the kids focused on finishing their Ben & Jerry’s ice cream bars before they melted in the late summer sun. Yes dear, it was a bit of alright. For now, no more US Open, no more Yankees tickets, no more ski conferences. I sure hope I get a job soon too.
Out on the Street: Anger is Bad Policy
Each week, “Joe the Trader” chronicles his experiences with life after Wall Street.
Joe the Trader is angry.
I’m angry at AIG, Merrill, and all the companies that are being propped up by the government and still paying people as if it were 2007. In January, I asked a good friend, Colin, who is employed by a troubled bank, how big a hit his bonus payment took.
“It really wasn’t all that bad,” he said. “I was paid down only 40%, but I don’t know how that’s possible—without the government we would be bankrupt.”
Out on the Street: They’re Just Not That Into Me
Each week, “Joe the Trader” chronicles his experiences with life after Wall Street.
“It’s not you.”
I’ve been told that—let me see—at least 15 times in the past. There was Molly, Jen, Claire, and Aisha (no wait, that was me). You get the picture. I was never the reason the girls broke up with me. You would think that, having been dumped on a fairly consistent basis since 1984, I would have been steeled for today’s bad news from one of my most promising job prospects.
Out on the Street: The Real Credit Crisis
Each week, “Joe the Trader” chronicles his experiences with life after Wall Street.
While it was old news, I was still left speechless by the article a fellow member of the He-Man’s Unemployment club recently sent to me. In early January, Newsweek published “The Case for Walking Away,” in which the author suggests that 2009 is the year to file for personal bankruptcy.
Don’t wait until it’s too late, the article advises. Indeed, “the right time to file for bankruptcy is when you’re financially stuck but still have assets to protect.” It is truly a sign of the times when a major news magazine is actually advocating such a thing.
The word credit is derived from the Latin credo, “to believe.” If integrity goes who will believe anybody? The current situation is truly a crisis of credit.
Out on the Street: From Bankers to Wankers
Each week, “Joe the Trader” chronicles his experiences with life after Wall Street.
“Where have you gone Gordon Gecko? Wall Street turns its lonely eyes to you. Oooh hoo oooh…” I found myself making up words to Simon and Garfunkle’s “Mrs. Robinson” as I walked to my local coffee shop for another He-Man’s Unemployment Club meeting. Increasingly it seems to me that the current financial crisis is going to be a seminal event in the culture of our nation.
The jury may still be out on broad societal shifts, but the public quickly volunteered to be judge, jury and executioner for the Wall Street fat cats. Even in the halcyon days of 2006, Wall Street guys were called douchebags. I imagine it won’t be long before John Thain, Dick Fuld and their army of financial engineers will be wandering Gitmo in orange suits.
Out on the Street: Gendernomics
Each week, “Joe the Trader” chronicles his experiences with life after Wall Street.
Okay, so I could have picked up the laundry, I could have dealt with the recycling piling up in the kitchen, I could have bought a tarp for the air conditioner so it doesn’t rust sitting outside on the porch. But I didn’t. That’s right: I chose not to do the three things my lady asked me to do. Time slipped away, I claimed, when she asked what the hell I’d done all day. Through repeated questioning, I maintained my innocence, highlighting all of the “important” networking calls I had made. But between us, dear reader, the truth is I was in my giraffe boxer shorts most of the day talking to my “important” contacts about my upcoming ski trip. And what did my lady do all day? You guessed it: She went to work.
Out on the Street: F*@# You Money
Each week, “Joe the Trader” chronicles his experiences with life after Wall Street.
The first time I ever heard about F*@# You Money, I was a young economic researcher in the government, getting paid shit. I remember thinking, could these Wall Street guys be any more vulgar? Not only was the amount of money they made offensive, but the ultimate measure of success was in fact an expletive. However, by the time I reached Wall Street, after a few years of government wages and a couple more struggling through most of a doctoral program, I was willing to accept a little more vulgarity. In fact, I embraced the idea of F@&* You Money.
Out on the Street: A Day in the Afterlife
Each week, “Joe the Trader” chronicles his experiences with life after Wall Street.
For eleven years, I was short on time—or at least I told myself that. Now time is what I got. Welcome to January 30th.
Out on the Street: Time Value of Me
Each week, “Joe the Trader” will chronicle his experiences with life after Wall Street.
Modern economic theories have tried to explain the tremendous salaries that movie stars, sports heroes and corporate executives earn on the theory of rent. That is, these people have a uniqueness— or a perceived uniqueness—that allows them to charge astronomical prices, because they are the only people in the world who can do what they do.
I’ve been thinking a lot about this issue as I go about my day, meeting with ex-colleagues and visiting the kids at their mom’s. Over the past two months, my time has declined dramatically in value. My education hasn’t changed. My work experience hasn’t changed. I would certainly argue that my talent hasn’t changed. But as with the superstars, perception is reality.
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