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Wall Street Warriors, Episode 2: Postmortem

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But first, a postmortem on episode one. By now you’re likely asking yourselves a few questions—“why is DealBreaker covering the WSW pilot a week late”; “what is this, this Wall Street Warriors”; and “have you ever a been with a woman.” All excellent questions. First of all, we do things differently ‘round these parts. We don’t follow crowds, we don’t mindlessly adhere to standard protocol like a bunch of sheep, and we don’t always remember to request copies of shows before they air, thereby allowing other people to put in their two cents while we stand silently on the sidelines looking stupid quirky for our unorthodox take on the situation at hand (we also don’t subscribe to certain high resolution channels, but that’s neither here nor there). Second, if you don’t know what Wall Street Warriors is, we don’t even know where to get started with you—but in the interest of indoctrination, start by reading our Dear Diary entry: Tonight I went to the Wall Street Warriors party and it was all I dreamt it would be—and more. It won’t necessarily elucidate much, per the series, but it’ll do…something. Lastly, no, there’s never an appropriate time to ask that question. Don’t feel bad, we’re kind of with you on thinking that maybe now, given the political climate of us being in the vulnerable position of not having done something we should’ve done, um, what’s that a week ago (?) it’s sort as though we ‘owe you a freebie,’ so to speak, but yeah, no. Let us begin.

Episode one begins with an apocalyptic sounding score and, you guessed it, a tickertape. In case you didn’t get the memo-- this is Wall Street, people. First stop, a portfolio manager—and rather dapper looking fellow, if you’ll allow us the frivolity—named Guy de Chimay (pronounced ‘Gee’). He tells us, “Wall Street takes the brightest people and smashes them into the pavement on a regular basis,” with a certitude that makes us think he has actually tasted asphalt himself. Either that or he’s studied under some fantastic instructors at the People’s Improv Theater. 6 to 1, half a dozen to the other. Where the inspiration came from doesn’t really matter to us; the only thing that’s important is that Guy makes us believe.
Deal Maker Sandra Navidi. Sandy invites us into her apartment to watch her prepare for the day. Make-up, jewelry, fancy dresses, the whole gestalt. Slumber parties Wall Street Warrior princesses are fun! Narrator Richard Taglianetti (manager acquisitions)-- whose voice we would not be going out on a limb in saying sounds eerily like that of Adam Corolla-- informs: “everyone wants to sign a contract with Sandy.” We’re above what would be a rather sophomoric translation of this statement. But you can guess what it is. Sandy studies quantum physics in her spare time.
We first meet Alex Gerchick while he’s driving his son—age 4, maybe 5—to school. Alex asks the boy, “Do you want to make a million dollars?” to which the enterprising child responds, “No, two million.” Gerchick shoots back, “Yeah, how about five million?” They’ve got good chemistry, there’s not doubting that, as displayed in these little one-uppances. In fact, it’s all very Tom Cruise-Jonathan Lipnicki, “The human head weighs eight pounds” “Did you know Troy Aikman, in only six years, has passed for [indecipherable number of] yards?” “Did you know that my neighbor has three rabbits?” until it segues into one of those awkward situations wherein your friend is getting yelled at by his dad on the sideline of the soccer field about how “one goal is not enough, you should be scoring 5 goals out there!” and you’re trying to evaporate into the soil but it’s just not happening and dear god, how did I get stuck in this after-school carpool group, why couldn’t I have been with the Keils, whose mom takes everyone for ice cream?” (actual dialogue entails Gerchick drawing up a blueprint for his 4-5 year old son as to exactly how he’s to go about acquiring these 2-5 million dollars).
During a bit called "Street Talk," Andrew Barber of Trader Monthly fame sits at a bar with a scotch and a beer and breaks it down for us-- "If you're on the sell side, you have to slam down the phone before you say fuck you. If you're on the buy side, you get to slam down the phone, THEN say fuck you." This is verbatim what he said, and not what we "imagine he might've said." We wish we could take credit for shit like this.
Jill DiLosa moved out of her parents' home at 15, retired at 27. Has (what
we're guessing is) a nice midwestern twang. Jill’s trying to start her own hedge fund and works out throughout the entire episode. Running, kickboxing, you name it, she’s doing it. Jill is purely ornamental; her function is to make us feel bad about ourselves, for our lack of ambition and various other shortcomings.
Bob Nunn, an AMEX specialist, tells us a story about getting bit on the shoulder by another specialist on the floor one day. Bob's got panache.
Parker Quillen is a fund manger. “Christina, the coffee machine has gone wacko,” is the first thing we hear him say, the second being “I’m here to make money, let’s be straight about that.” Quillen strikes as a good enough guy, and probably a pretty talented manager but enough about that, let’s get to the part about how should there ever be a shortage of b-roll in which a guy with a swagger-- that could be used for instructional videos on swaggering-- walks down the hall, contact INHD immediately.
Finally, there’s Christina, Quillen’s COO. Seemingly a peripheral member of the cast, Christina tells the camera, “I’ll tell you what my biggest pet peeve is—when you are a company and you’re trying so hard to make a profit [and people like us, short-sellers come along]. I’d rather be the company actually making something, than the ‘weasely’ analyst and—wait, I don’t want to say weasely, maybe take out weasely. Sometimes I feel it’s more honest to—honest isn’t a good word either, scratch, scratch all that. I’d rather be the person making something happen than betting on whether or not it’s going up or down.”
Cut to Quillen, in the next office remarking, “There’s a nefarious image that short sellers are betting on distruction and loss of wealth (italics indicate Quillen’s mocking tone when using these words. It’s as though he’s doesn’t agree with this ‘nefarious image’ or what Christina's just said).
Obviously, there’s going to be some inter-office friction.
In the last five minutes, we see Sandy on her way to a party, where the “tables cost $25,000 each, so you try and make the most of it.” She tells us, “This is how it works: you say, 'It’s lovely to see you again but I don’t want to keep you let’s circulate'.” Look out, Emily Post.
De Chimay’s wife often asks him, “Why don’t you stop,” to which he tells us he says to her, “Stop and then do what?” Answering a question with a question—this is a man after our own heart.
Cut to Quillen approaching the coffee maker for the second time in the episode and saying “Ah ha—I see somebody got this thing to work.” This is the money line of the episode. The apex. The bell curve. There’s nothing more to say here. Until epside two.