I live in motion, constant movement and forward aggressive action dictate my life. Even my job is one of rapid change in pace, acceleration, and volume. At any one moment before the day even starts, half a dozen traders can be found talking to each other. Filthy language is used to describe everything from coworkers, the weather, sports, or anything else. Clerks are running by making sure that every detail is ready for the morning bell, phones are ringing, and printers are grinding, while computers chime their booting tones. Ten minutes before the day starts the pits are filled to the brim with traders, some of them smiling and joking, others already angry about a recent cubs or soxs defeat.
By the time the morning bell rings the atmosphere can be anywhere, from a relaxed start to end a slow week, to a veritable powder keg ready to explode. The secret language of options is spoken fluently by all and overwhelms any visitor trying to make sense of our madness. Some days you can walk into the pit and find any sort of business besides options going on. Ball games are watched on computers and cellphones, bets are taken, and not unlike the actual art of trading, money changes hands. Other days, one can not hear over the screaming need of dozens upon dozens all going after the same slice of pie, tempers rise until eventually over the grinding printers, the ringing phones, the running clerk, and screaming voices someone, somewhere, snaps. Underlines change and products move, one day your on top and others you struggle, the only constant is that after it all, everyone goes home.
Today, however, was different, today everything went completely quiet for one minute. For one minute in a stadium full of clerks, traders, phones, printers, officials, and radios, we all fell silent. Our arena of competition, of motion, stood at a complete stand still as customers were ignored, phones rang unanswered, and printers halted their grinding. For one whole minute, everyone's thoughts where almost a full decade behind the present. Everyone of us stood in a room full of personal memories and thoughts of, where were you that morning? For a moment I heard for the first time a cough from the other side of this massive room, I heard feet shuffling from way over there. Then as fast it came, it ended, and the day began. Now as I carry on at work I hear the familiar pace, plans for the weekend being made, swearing about athletes.
One thought echoes across my mind, even with all of this noise and action and excitement, it carries through my head as if the one moment still continued inside. Nobody gives a fuck.
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