Tell me a story.

Dear Granddaddy of WSO, Isiah

I was an unplanned baby born 19 years ago in a third world country, to two parents who didn't graduate high school. One is white, the other is not, guess my race. My middle name is two words and in a different language. My last name is a gun. My home country got flooded so we moved to the U.S, settled in FL and were homeless for quite some time, until my dad could get a stable trade job. Mom isn't in the picture. I was homeschooled up until moving to America so I didn't know how to talk to other people, I still don't. I worked 3 jobs since I was 14 and saved up to buy my then reasonable dream car, (Insert German car brand here). Picked a school in the Northeast, applied, got in, said my goodbyes, and drove up here by myself. Life is good, it is what it is, and it is what it should be. 

Here's another one:

I was Philly a few nights ago for a 9:00 reservation for two at The Dandelion, a contemporary British Pub on 18th street. My date was a fair skinned 5'4 brunette I met off Hinge who goes to Drexel, which of whom could've been mistaken for Natalie Portman. I take her in by her waist and give her a hug, she compliments my cologne (Jo Malone, Myrrh and Tonka), and I compliment her redolently inviting perfume. She was wearing candy red lipstick which proved to be too much of a tease the entire date, all the way til the point where her lips eventually met mine later that night. Our interactions leading up to that had an air of polarizing chemistry which we both took advantage of. For some reason, she kept on calling me a whore (am I?).

I guide her in the restaurant and we're seated in an intimate spot which I had requested in the reservation notes. For us, I order the chicken and duck liver parfait, with Brioche bread which was truly exquisite. For the entrée, she orders the Chicken Tandoori, and I, the Duck Bolognese. We continue to tease and taunt each other for the next hour, constantly one upping each other with increasingly agitative remarks and comebacks, beginning to undress each other with our eyes. We make it back to her apartment, and it doesn't end there. I tell her roommate to fuck off because she's cockblocking me, (threesome attempt didn't work). Part 2 coming soon.....

Cheers,

a mentor of mine came from a rural town, was a special needs student, had abusive parents, and a broken family life. he went to community college, worked hard, and transferred to a target school, where he was able to graduate with 0 loans bc of need based finaid. worked hard there and placed well, but then he hit roadblocks. for example, he worked hard to place SA at a EB/BB, but did not get the FT offer from his junior yr SA IB firm, and had to start elsewhere after college before lateralling to an EB. going from IB --> PE, he did not place where he wanted and took some time off to reflect, before trying again and placing at a UMM PE firm. he's now looking to go to a SM HF (Tiger Cub/Baupost/Farallon/Activist/etc.), and the man's resilience and character are absolutely admirable and god level traits. honestly, I think it's people like him who will go on to do great things in life and be there to help others in need when they face similar struggles. have an insane amount of respect for said person. 

ik for a fact that he suffers from severe ptsd (to be real, no one walks away from that kind of shitty ass upbringing and becomes a "normal person" by wall street standards), but he counters it by getting involved in and donating to NYC organizations that try to solve child abuse and poverty issues. even with his demanding work schedule and many roadblocks he faced, he still powers through them like the terminator and makes time to get involved in things that matter to him. this guy is my superhero and i seriously hope he runs wall street one day.

none of the above would have been possible if he didn't work as hard as he did, and even when he did not get the FT offer from his junior yr IB shop, he still persevered to start elsewhere and lateral somewhere better. he does often joke that at his junior yr EB/BB, he was a bottom bucket intern who made many careless mistakes, but never let any of it get to his head or heart.

ps. he’s getting married soon, and IMO, anyone would truly be lucky to call him “dad”.

When I was 17 I bought myself a Zx6r (supersport motorcycle for those unfamiliar). Only caveat was I didn’t have my license yet as getting ur license under 18 required a parent to help u take a bs riding test.

That being said I was riding it quite frequently on the backroads by my house in the weeks leading up to my birthday. I was riding one afternoon on a highway nearby, I speed up to pass a car (not paying attention to the speed) and look behind me to see a state trooper pulling me over.

I got clocked doing 96 in a 60. When the state trooper parked and stepped out he asked me what I was thinking. I tell him the truth that I wasn’t looking at the speedometer and the bike truly is just very fast. He proceeds to ask for my license which I also come clean about…

Luckily for me I had insurance and the bike registered in my name as well as my endorsement for the license. The officer told me that instead of impounding my bike he will allow me to pick the tow truck company I’d like to tow my bike back to my house as I wasn’t allowed to ride it back.

I pick a company I had heard of a lot around town. 20 minutes pass, this tow truck driver pulls up in a regular tow truck (not a flat bed) I’m thinking how the hell am I going to get my bike towed without damaging it.

The officer gives me 5 warnings (speeding, lack of using turn signal, illegal plate mounting, no license and something else). This officer easily saved me $1500+ dollars between tickets and fines, the officer just thanks me for not trying to run from him as my bike was much faster than his cop car, he also appreciated the honesty. The officer tells me I can sort the rest out with the tow truck driver and then leaves.

One the officer leaves, the tow truck driver tells me how he loves super sport bikes and has one similar to mine but unfortunately hasn’t been able to ride it due to it being broken. I ask him how are we going to do this and he says “honestly man it’s the end of my shift and I really don’t feel like fighting this thing onto the back of the truck”. He then asks if I’d be okay with him driving my motorcycle and following me back to my house as I lead in his tow truck.

Astonished, I agree and just ask him not to crash it. So I hop in this tow truck and drive it 5 minutes back to my house with the guy following the whole way. Once we get there he is smiling ear to ear and proceeds to tell me how awesome it was to ride a supersport bike again. I ask what I owe him and he says nothing.

Luckiest day of my life …