A Morning In The Trading Room
A man in a navy suit tapped his coffee mug against his thumb as he stood over a cleaner seated with a newspaper.
The woman, wearing a grey uniform with a name tag reading Rosa, kept her gaze fixed on the pink newsprint of the Financial Times.
He tilted his head and asked if the paper was really for her.
Rosa glanced up and stated she liked to know what she owned.
The trader threw his head back, laughing aloud before leaning in to tell her to stick to her mop.
A Bold Prediction
Rosa calmly folded the edge of her newspaper without breaking eye contact.
She stated that the central bank made the wrong call on interest rates and that everyone would realize it by Friday.
The trader scoffed, took a sip from his paper cup, and turned away back toward the row of computer monitors displaying live market charts.
Workers across the floor continued typing and chatting while market numbers flickered across large overhead screens.
The Numbers Come In
A team leader walked into the center of the trading floor holding a digital tablet.
He announced to the gathered staff that quarterly performance numbers were officially finalized.
The desk returns were up six percent for the quarter, drawing nods and quiet smiles from the surrounding traders.
Then the leader tapped the screen again and paused, frowning slightly at the display.
He read aloud that Rosa’s personal trading account was up thirty-one percent.
The Silent Exit
The navy-suited trader stared at the tablet screen, his eyes wide and mouth hanging open.
He muttered that such a return was impossible while looking back toward the seating area.
Rosa smoothed down her apron, folded her paper neatly, and tucked it into her side bag.
She noted softly that there was nothing wrong with owning it all, adding she never claimed it was entirely hers.
Rosa gripped the blue handles of her cleaning cart and wheeled it down the center aisle past the trading desks.
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