Serial
"Not once in all these years have I come across a person inside a big Wall Street firm who was having a crisis of conscience.” (warning, this link is a long read, but it is worthy).
That person would be me.
nancylebov posted this link in her LJ, and I read it with avidity. I still enjoy reading stuff about the markets and I find that I understand a fair amount about the way they work, still. Why is this, you might ask?
A long time ago in this world, I was pretty bad off, job wise. I had been working a series of awful jobs since I was fired from my first graphic artist job out of college like - A) move this entire room of record files one floor up-there is a pallet of boxes to fill and the stairs are down the hall or B) Sell these Xmas trees for a ridiculous hourly wage + sales bonus (PS the owner was taking everyone's bonus money and using it for cocaine, so many people weren't paid) and, umm C) was something along the lines of working in a sorta dangerous light industrial factory which emphasized speed over safety, i.e. piecework (Upton Sinclair was dead on) and so on.
One day I read this job ad about how a certain company could pay me an hourly wage until I became qualified to become... a Stockbroker! Holy shit! Didn't stockbrokers drive around in Mercedes Benzes and wear ties and stuff on Wall Street? I was sick and tired of working with my back and the idea of an office environment and the potential to become a broker... Well, it sounded great, and I was getting pretty desperate, money wise, hell an hourly wage alone was compelling. Manpower the Temp Agency sucked, btw, they could only place me in areas where physical labor was needed. WTH? This was sexism of a kind, because there were other jobs that were going to women. Office jobs.
I was living at the time in a roach infested apartment (with a real live slob roommate). The people downstairs were certified drug dealers. They had the cleanest kitchen in Isabella Park Apartments, it's entire furnishings were a single table with a digital triple beam balance scale on it. Period. I saw it one night through a gap in the blinds. Sheesh.
Occasionally new cars were parked outside the apartments (like Corvettes, Jags and Cadillacs). Customers came and went often at all times of the night (as did I, being all under employed and single and whatnot). Oh, and I was engaged to be married in about 8 or 9 months to my college sweetheart, plus PLUS I wasn't getting any graphics jobs because my last employer was seriously vindictive about being a reference (I was fired because I would not move to their night shift). So I could NOT get a job in my field. Period. I didn't find out about the poisoned reference until a potential employer who knew this company was composed of assholes told me about the reference, and then hired me anyway, much, much later.
I applied to this company and lo, I was inculcated into the mysteries of being a cold call flunky for a stock brokerage after brief interview. In a cavernous room replete with rows of desks each with a phone, in an industrial park, I sat with the other drones and phoned.
Work was like this; you read your call script selling a free newsletter, follow this and call people (who you call is your problem). Each person who agrees to receive the companies financial advice newsletter generates one "card". Make many cards per day. Cold call for 8-10 hours a day and on weekends. Repeat.
At some point I would be able to take a class on how to pass the Series Seven government exam. 250 questions over 360 minutes followed by the series six at 100 questions, multiple choice. OK, I could handle tests, I went to college. I had a BFA!
To be continued
That person would be me.
nancylebov posted this link in her LJ, and I read it with avidity. I still enjoy reading stuff about the markets and I find that I understand a fair amount about the way they work, still. Why is this, you might ask?
A long time ago in this world, I was pretty bad off, job wise. I had been working a series of awful jobs since I was fired from my first graphic artist job out of college like - A) move this entire room of record files one floor up-there is a pallet of boxes to fill and the stairs are down the hall or B) Sell these Xmas trees for a ridiculous hourly wage + sales bonus (PS the owner was taking everyone's bonus money and using it for cocaine, so many people weren't paid) and, umm C) was something along the lines of working in a sorta dangerous light industrial factory which emphasized speed over safety, i.e. piecework (Upton Sinclair was dead on) and so on.
One day I read this job ad about how a certain company could pay me an hourly wage until I became qualified to become... a Stockbroker! Holy shit! Didn't stockbrokers drive around in Mercedes Benzes and wear ties and stuff on Wall Street? I was sick and tired of working with my back and the idea of an office environment and the potential to become a broker... Well, it sounded great, and I was getting pretty desperate, money wise, hell an hourly wage alone was compelling. Manpower the Temp Agency sucked, btw, they could only place me in areas where physical labor was needed. WTH? This was sexism of a kind, because there were other jobs that were going to women. Office jobs.
I was living at the time in a roach infested apartment (with a real live slob roommate). The people downstairs were certified drug dealers. They had the cleanest kitchen in Isabella Park Apartments, it's entire furnishings were a single table with a digital triple beam balance scale on it. Period. I saw it one night through a gap in the blinds. Sheesh.
Occasionally new cars were parked outside the apartments (like Corvettes, Jags and Cadillacs). Customers came and went often at all times of the night (as did I, being all under employed and single and whatnot). Oh, and I was engaged to be married in about 8 or 9 months to my college sweetheart, plus PLUS I wasn't getting any graphics jobs because my last employer was seriously vindictive about being a reference (I was fired because I would not move to their night shift). So I could NOT get a job in my field. Period. I didn't find out about the poisoned reference until a potential employer who knew this company was composed of assholes told me about the reference, and then hired me anyway, much, much later.
I applied to this company and lo, I was inculcated into the mysteries of being a cold call flunky for a stock brokerage after brief interview. In a cavernous room replete with rows of desks each with a phone, in an industrial park, I sat with the other drones and phoned.
Work was like this; you read your call script selling a free newsletter, follow this and call people (who you call is your problem). Each person who agrees to receive the companies financial advice newsletter generates one "card". Make many cards per day. Cold call for 8-10 hours a day and on weekends. Repeat.
At some point I would be able to take a class on how to pass the Series Seven government exam. 250 questions over 360 minutes followed by the series six at 100 questions, multiple choice. OK, I could handle tests, I went to college. I had a BFA!
To be continued