I had a dream early this morning that I was standing in the ten year note pit on the old trading floor.
In my mind I knew we haven’t traded on this floor in twenty five years. I was also wearing a tie and that hasn’t been mandatory since the turn of the century.
I didn’t recognize anyone on the floor. Usually when I have a trading floor dream I don’t have pants on, but I was fully clothed for this trading session.
When I woke up I thought about how I missed that floor. How it will never return, but neither will my youth.
The chaos of Covid closed the remaining trading floor suddenly on Friday March 13th 2020. We left everything down there thinking we’d be back by the end of the month. We never returned.
I worked down there for five decades and the only two dates that stick out are Tuesday September 11th, 2001 and March 13th, 2020.
I take that back… Friday October 13, 1989 was the mini crash. That was a huge day and I was standing in the ten year pit for that one.
That day the bond pit screamed more than it roared. The bond pit was the mother fucker of all trading pits back in the day. It was a gorgeous display of controlled chaos.
When the market rallied the pit would Roar. When the market broke the pit would Scream.
Buying has an aggressive roaring sound and selling has a panicked scream.
The intensity that started at 7:20am and ended immediately at 2:00pm showed me how to handle chaos everyday for the rest of my life.
I’ll never work in a trading pit again, but it is fun to dream about. As long as I have pants on and know what the bid and offer is.
Today is Piña Colada Day…. I love a good Piña Colada on a beach with a cigar, naked Houston Oiler cheerleaders and endless slices of pizza…. There I go dreaming again.
