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Remember Wall Street’s 2008 implosion—Bear Stearns crumbling under subprime greed, shaking the world? Now rewind to the ’80s: me, a Columbia dropout, crammed into a $850-a-month walk-up with two slackers, Chris and Dan. Pot smoke, polygraphs, and a $10,000-a-year gig in Bear’s Clearance Order Room—where I juggled stock trades, dodged trash-talking traders, and learned money’s cold lessons. It’s a sweaty, loud, dead-end hustle, spiced with pranks and a middle finger to the suits upstairs, like penny-pinching CEO Ace Greenberg.
This is raw, unpolished, and straight from my desk. Want the full flavor—grit, guts, and a paperclip revolt? Subscribe to my paid Substack to read the whole messy draft as I write it.
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