Tuna and trading floors …
… and the perils involved
I now work on the trading floor of a big investment bank. I always had images in my mind of what it would be like, and for the most part I have been right. There are lots of conversations of sports, cars, and, um, balls. Oh, and lots and lots of cussing. (Rather creative cussing I might add). There’s also a sprinkling of admins that giggle a lot and wear low cut tops and barely there skirts. They are working too, I suppose.
But there are some things I was unprepared for. For example Gino New Yorkers and Tuna. There is a legit Gino-New Yorker that sits right behind me. In addition to overhearing conversations about how he goes mid-town to pick up ‘chicks’ and do ‘lots of shots’, he also fancies himself quite the body builder. He surfs bodybuilder websites, talks about work-out regimes, and … wait for it … eats tuna!! Not so bad, you may say. Until he pulls a can of tuna out at 9am (before I’ve had my coffee) and smells up the whole area. Vile does not even begin to describe it. Especially when he pulls out another can at 4pm.
Mercury poisoning = natural selection.
But all in all, it’s largely what you’d expect. The other day, there was a full out shout-fest between two bond traders. Now, you have to picture this to get the full effect. One guy, let’s call him ‘tan-suit dude’, is tall, has very shiny, very slicked back hair, and has some kind of facial hair that is in a line and appears well groomed. Anyhow, he and some other guy are barking at one another so loud that the whole trading floor begins to quiet down. All the activity was going on behind me, so I got to experience the effect of ‘gopher-head’ in front of me. This is the phenomenon of everyone in front of me on the trading floor popping their heads up to check out the action. I laughed at both events.
But it gets worse. Much worse.
So I left work yesterday (note that it was a Thursday) and was trying to hail a cab *impossible* in the financial district. At that point, I was approached by 3 guys that offered to share a cab with me and drop me off at my destination while they continued uptown. (They were leaving one bar, and headed to another). Who are they? Well, I recognized one right away … Tan Suit Guy! So they come up and want to share a cab. One of the shorter guys pipes in that they’ll pay! Wow – my lucky day – maybe I’ll save 5 bucks. So all three start talking at me simultaneously, and they figure out that I work at the same firm. Well, they are just stunned by the news and demand to know why I have not marched myself over to introduce myself to them yet. Tan Suit Guy even informs me that his is “head of a desk”. I try not to roll my eyes and smile accordingly. Then, one of the guys realizes that he left his keys at the bar, so he disappears, the other guy (a Montrealer as it turns out) spontaneously gets an idea and runs in the opposite direction leaving me alone with Tan Suit Guy. I start to panic, but (thankfully) he decides to go find his friend.
Whew.
Until 3 minutes later … A stretch black limo pulls up next to me and a head pokes out (Mr. Montreal’s mission fulfilled) and the three musketeers (reunited) say they will drop me off at my destination. With no cabs in sight, I bite my tongue and get in. I am going only about 5 blocks, but I had my laptop and was in heels. I know … I was weak. Then Mr. Montreal realizes he may not have cash on him! The horror … so he asks if it’s okay if I get out early so they don’t have to turn off the main street. I don’t even wait for the follow-up, I just jump out of the car (which I was in for no joke officially less than one full minute) and continue on my merry – alone! – way.
That was close.
I get in the next morning and keep my head firmly down, trying not to look in the direction of Tan Suit Guy et. al. I know that if spotted chatting with them it would be bad news at some point or another. Anyhow, I was golden until around 2pm when I decided to visit the vending machine. Crap. Run right smack dab into Tan Suit Dude … and right in front of his co-workers. “Hello!” he says, ” how are you?” Then he proceeds to show me his group, and I confirm that that is indeed where I hear all the noise from. Then he leans into me with a big grin and says …
… wait for it …
“So how did you like the 22-foot stretch” …
My stomach is still turning.
I held back a choke, let out a tiny flat smile and said “for the 22 seconds, it was indeed interesting”. Then walked off.
Just. Disturbing.
