Broker: (n) a person who buys and sells goods or assets for others.
There’s a certain male body type, where there’s enough blubber in the belly to put a lot of pink in the cheeks.
Now, before you get all impressed and everything, it was a very temporary situation in my life, when an inheritance enabled me to have money to invest if I so desired.
I was intrigued.
So I went to see a broker. I happened to land in Mick’s office.
He was a delightful young man–straight out of college–and had certainly aspired to something larger than his six-by-eight-foot office space. I was never sure what Mick wanted to be, but was pretty darned positive it was not a broker.
I explained to him that I felt the benefit of this influx of cash was to be able to live off the interest of the money, therefore not needing, for a season, to “labor in the fields.”
Now, Mick was new at this–so I was fairly certain that he had no idea whether my request was plausible or not, but he also had no intention of having me leave his cubicle without choosing him as my “guy.”
So with all of his plump self and ruby cheeks, he said, “Sure.”
It was perfect. He wanted to lie and I wanted to believe him.
But the truth is, the monthly interest from my investments never quite covered my personal lifestyle. Even though I was not angry at Mick because of the shortage, after two or three months he stopped taking my phone calls.
The experience did help me come to the conclusion that money is only valuable when it’s working.
When it lays around waiting for opportunity, like everything else in life, it is soon unemployed.