Talk about not being able to take a hint. I’ve been going to my broker, Alan, for about a year now, and don’t get me wrong I really love the stocks he sells me. But just because I buy shares through him doesn’t mean he should come hang out at my house.
After a deal the other day he sat in my kitchen talking about my “financial future” for over an hour. Like, go out and get some friends that aren’t your customers.
When I buy any security that he’s selling he always gets me the best price but then wants a ‘commission’. I feel like it’s unprofessional to get high returns on your own supply, but I feel bad, so I let him take it. I guess I pity the guy, but I shouldn’t have to laugh at his dumb jokes just because he’s the only guy in town that can get his hands on $SNOW.
The transaction couldn’t be more straightforward: I call Alan for the most high-flying stocks he can get me, I buy some, and we’re done. Simple as that. Apparently, that’s not his MO. One time, I called him to short TSLA, and he immediately booked us reservations for two at The Cheesecake Factory. I had to sit in the passenger seat of his weird-smelling Corolla and make small talk about his kids.
At the end of the meal, he had the gall to ask if I had any other friends who needed stocks. When I said no, he asked for my birthday so he could send me a card. I had to break it to him that our relationship just wasn’t that strong: he sells me stocks, not drugs.