Friday, April 08, 2005

The Chad

I work with a boy who likes to put folks in their place. He’s a rookie, of course, and been around about three months. He passed his test and got his 7 and it’s been hell for all of us ever since.

A wholesaler took several of us out to lunch yesterday and the rookie, Chad, tagged along for the free meal. It’s not like he has any clients that would notice him gone or anything.

The whole fucking meal he kept challenging the wholesaler, questioning the age of his stats and trying to one up him with his newly learned securities lingo. Thing was, it was Chad that looked like a fool. Yeah, it’s good to question the wholesalers from time to time, but the shit Chad was questioning was ridiculously 5th grade. Who gives a flying fuck if the stats are rounding up or down to the nearest tenth? It’s a fucking tenth!

But that’s not Chad’s only issue. See, Chad has no nuts. I know this not because I’ve looked, because I assure you I’ve avoided eye contact with the magical one-eyed serpent, but because of the shit he has to do to prove he’s a fucking man. A woman at a table adjacent to us got up and wouldn’t shut her mouth long enough to turn around and look where she was going, thereby walking backwards into a waiter who was also walking backwards. They clash into each other and both stumble a bit before catching their balances. I disregarded it as soon as it happened.

So of course Chad jumps up to yell at the waiter. I couldn’t believe the goddamn spectacle he was causing. He was in the waiter’s face about being clumsy and unprofessional and ripping him a new one for not apologizing to the lady. That’s not how I saw it. Her need to urinate apparently did not overpower her need to run her mouth. She’s just as guilty as the waiter. But I can’t say that shit when I’m on a business lunch. I represent the firm. On a Friday night, yeah, I’d lay my mind on him in a heartbeat. But not in the middle of Landry’s with 11 other brokers sitting around. He was making an ass of himself with his white knight bullshit.

Danny finally spoke up. “Chad. Chad! Chad!

Danny’s got a way with never taking people seriously which makes the ones who need, need, need to be the most popular, well-liked men in the room look like the testosterone junkies that they are.

Danny: Sit down, Lancelot.
Chad (sitting): What an asshole, huh?
Danny: Yeah, we were all thinking that.
Chad: I hope he feels as stupid as he looks.
Danny: I bet he don’t.
Chad: I bet he does.
Jesse (to Danny): You know what his real beef is, huh?
Danny: People don’t like him?
Jesse: Nope. That he knows people don’t like him.
Chad: What are you bitches talking about?
Danny: Watson, I think you’re right.
Chad: I was just looking out for that woman!
Danny: Hey, Jay, what do you call a limp jerkwad?
Jay: Man, don’t drag me into this.
Jesse (to Danny): What?
Danny: A hanging chad.

I figure Chad will sit in the fifth quintile until the BM’s had enough and cans his ass three months from now. And I’m sure he’ll be replaced with yet another immature pisser desperate to be the coolest motherfucker on the block. But like all those in his wake, he, too, shall pass.

Besides, everybody knows the secret to longevity is possessing a humble charm. Candy apple ass cheeks never hurt the matter, either.