Wall Street Read

Chandler and Carter are my wonderful kids.
From the author
It's a memory book, a true story about the most interesting events of my life. In specific cases, the names and characteristics of some characters of the book have been changed to protect their privacy. I recorded the dialogues as they were remembered, and in some cases, for the sake of greater entertainment, I brought together a number of events and time lags.
Pro
Simple.
♪ You're nothing more than the pathetic bastard, said my new boss when he first took me through the Al-Eph Rothschild brokerage. - You have a problem with that, right, Jordan?
♪ No, I answered. - No problem.
♪ All right, well, I ran the boss and went on.
We went through the labyrinth of the red tree's desks, wired black phones. Labyrinth was on the twenty-fourth floor of the glass tower and aluminium tower, all over its 40s and one floor over Manhattan, over the famous Fifth Avenue. The Broker Room was simplic, about fifty-seven feet. The situation was just saying, all those desks, phones, computer monitors, and the stupid apples, they were like seventy people. All of them this minute was 9:20 a.m., sitting without jackets, falling in their chairs, reading Wall--Jornel Street“and clearly enjoyed the status of the masters of the universe.
Being the master of the universe seemed to me to be an extremely enviable fate, and when I was walking past those stupid apples in my cheap blue suit and cheap shoes, I was passionate to be one of them. But my new boss brought me back from heaven to earth.
♪
Your work, he looked at a plastic bajicker on my cheap jacket's blue Latin,
Your work, Jordan Belfort, is a caller's job. So you're gonna be dialing phone numbers five hundred times a day trying to break into the bosses through their secretaries. You're not gonna try to sell anything, you're not gonna recommend anything, and you're not gonna create anything. You're just gonna be called to company owners.
He stopped for a moment and then dug up a new poison.
♪ And when you,
Finally, you'll only say, "Hello, Mr. True, I'd like to talk to Scott," after which you'll give me the phone and start calling me the following. You think you can handle it? Or is it too hard for you?
♪ I'll manage, I'm sure the tone I answered, although the panic hit me with a head like a huge tsunami. The rate at El-Ef-Rotschilde was to be extended for six months. These months are likely to be harsh and horrific, because I'm gonna have to depend entirely on fools like this Scott who seemed to have just... ♪