“Alright guys,” said the freckled, boyishly chubby sales manager in the front of the boardroom. “The pay period ends at the close of business today. One more chance to put together a decent f*ckin’ month, one last chance to get some gross in for your check on the fifteenth.”
All eyes on him. You can hear the old time-stamping clock we used for trade tickets clicking away in the background, and that’s about it.
“So what’s it gonna be? You guys gonna be brokers or a bunch of f*cking pikers?”
This guy’s not nearly as intimidating as the Mountain of Misinformation was. He’s younger and weaker, and he’s made the cardinal mistake of going out drinking with the young guys on a regular basis. Once your ...