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- Herausgeber: Books on Demand
- Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
- Sprache: Englisch
The term "trader" comes from the English word "trade" which means "exchange, commerce". A trader is an individual who trades financial products on behalf of a bank or brokerage firm. His job is to buy and resell, buy and resell, to infinity and often in a very short time. In fact, the author is not a trader working for an institution but rather for his own account. He clearly differentiates between these two major categories of traders. Through a narrative, a kind of written short-movie recounting of a real scene, Benoist Rousseau explains how, by going to a simple neighbors' party in France, he could be stigmatized and cause questioning or rejection as soon as he presents himself as a trader. This stigma is often due to people's lack of knowledge regarding the profession of a trader. It is through crisp dialogues and with a dose of humor that Benoist Rousseau, explaining his daily trader life, his way of life in opposition to the social norm, comes to the simultaneously provocative but unstoppable conclusion that a trader working for his own account is actually a Robin Hood.
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Seitenzahl: 50
Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2019
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Narrated by the French trader Benoist Rousseau
Translated by: Cherry Chapman
https://www.cherrychapman.com
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I want to thank the members of the Andlil forum and everybody on the internet that has encouraged and supported me during all these years.
This book is dedicated to them.
Benoist Rousseau
A trader working for his own account
Founder of the website Andlil.com
https://www.andlil.com
It’s a blog about the stock market and the economy in which he shares his passion for trading, his economic analysis and his vision on the evolution of society.
https://www.andlil.com/forum/
It’s a very active stock market forum where thousands of traders and internet users come to share their knowledge about the stock market, economy, trading…
Published by JDH Editions
In relation with trading…
Devenez Trader Pro!
(Become a Trader Pro!)
By Benoist Rousseau (May 2019)
Réussir en bourse, c'est presque facile!
(Succeeding in the stock market, it’s almost easy!)
By Jean-David Haddad, editor in chief of Francebourse.com (January 2017)
Le trading, c’est presque facile!
(Trading, it’s almost easy!)
By Stéphane Ceaux-Dutheil (May 2017)
In relation to other subjects…
Money Game
By Sébastien Thiboumery (February 2019)
L’intelligence artificielle va-t-elle nous tuer?
(Will artificial intelligence kill us?)
By Jean-Claude Bourret (November 2017)
La révolution technologique qui va bientôt nous surprendre (The technological revolution that will soon surprise us)
By Fréderic Granotier and Christophe Jurczak (May 2018)
Table of Contents
Neighbors Day
I Am a Trader Working for My Own Account
There Are Two Types of Traders
Wage-Earning is a Modern Serfdom
You Speculate on the Lives of Others
We Are All Speculators
People and Financial Morality
A Trader Working for His Own Account is a Socialist
Jérôme Kerviel and the Hatred of Traders
A Crisis? What Crisis?
Minimalization, a Way Out of the Crisis?
Epilogue
Foreword
The term “trader” comes from the English word “trade” which means “exchange, commerce”. A trader is an individual who trades financial products on behalf of a bank or brokerage firm. His job is to buy and resell, buy and resell, to infinity and often in a very short time.
In fact, the author is not a trader working for an institution but rather for his own account. He clearly differentiates between these two major categories of traders.
Through a narrative, a kind of written short-movie recounting of a real scene, Benoist Rousseau explains how, by going to a simple neighbors' party, he could be stigmatized and cause questioning or rejection as soon as he presents himself as a trader. This stigma is often due to people's lack of knowledge regarding the profession of a trader.
It is through crisp dialogues and with a dose of humor that Benoist Rousseau, explaining his daily trader life, his way of life in opposition to the social norm, comes to the simultaneously provocative but unstoppable conclusion that a trader working for his own account is actually a Robin Hood.
Neighbors Day
I had been a tenant in a building of 20 apartments for three months and I had almost never come across my neighbors. A few stealthy encounters at the mailboxes, a quick hello, a gesture of civility to hold the door behind me, a smile, it was about all of the social relations that I could have made. And it was fine by me. I love silence and solitude, eremitism attracts me, I rarely leave my house and I am by no means in search of new friends, I already have too many…
One morning, just like any other, I found an invitation in my mailbox:
“We are organizing a Neighbors Day and your presence is desired. Please indicate if you will be bringing something to eat and/or to drink”.
Bla-bla.
I hesitated for a while because this kind of party, where everyone smiles to each other all the while judging them silently to then ramble about them later, was not really my cup of tea. I’m not really curious about the lives of others, but there are some mandatory passages in life, and presenting myself is the least I can do. Being the new tenant in a building of owners, living on the top floor in the largest apartment, I clearly must apologize for this disruption in the hierarchy of norms. An unshaven hermit tenant living above the co-owners, this was enough to create queries or even concerns. I saw some suspicious and questioning looks; my sloppy appearance was not helping me at all. It was final, I was going out of my den. And there I was with my salad bowl filled with assorted salads of varying quality, bread and homemade pesto from basil, that was freshly washed, leveled and cut. I had put on my best jeans (the one with no holes in it) and I was standing at the foot of the building with my housing comrades. I wanted to make a good impression, surely due to my classical education.
The buffet was already set on wooden trestles and cheap garden lounges. The culinary spaces were well defined: large salad bowls of various chips, a mountain of charcuterie, quiches and homemade desserts (note for tonight: think to compliment the pastry chefs without marking any preference).
The next famine seems far away. I will be putting on another 2 kilos after this. Oh, I think there is a famine in Somalia right now? I don't remember, I think I saw it passing on a BFMTV banner between football results and the weather. There must have been enough food for 5 days on the tables and enough drinks for 15.
I spotted a forsaken water bottle from the corner of my eye. I don't drink alcohol. People always ask me about this social anomaly in the country of Rabelais. “You don't drink?” My response varies, according to my mood of the moment, from a guilt response such as “I cannot, I have liver cirrhosis” to a replica that immediately creates social ties such as “I cannot, I had too much to drink yesterday”. But generally, I pretend to drink Vodka with a glass of water so as not to disturb my hosts or pass for a miserable teetotaler.
