The Pink Pony of Wall Street
They say she’s the greatest stockbroker to hit Wall Street. Ever.
The Economist is calling her the next Warren Buffett. Businessweek was the first to call her the “Pink Pony of Wall Street.”
Hell, could’ve fooled me.
Firstly, you’d never guess, but she’s an Equestrian. Yeah, like a four-legged bright pink horse with pictures of balloons on her ass and poofier hair than Jimi Hendrix. Sure, Equestrians are all over New York these days. I’m fine with pegasus window washers or unicorn doctors or changeling plumbers. But a pony stockbroker? I’m sorry, but I sure as hell can’t keep a straight face when I see the name “Pinkamena Diane Pie” on the cover of Fortune magazine.
I work in the office next to her. The “Pink Pony of Wall Street’s” office is identical to mine: a 200 square feet, windowless cubicle, with this hideous green shag carpet straight out of the 70s.
It’s bigger than my apartment, though.
That was a joke.
Who am I? Mark Hutchinson, born and raised in the Upper East Side, graduated top of my class in the London School of Economics three years ago, and I’m just trying to make it big as a stockbroker on Wall Street.
I’m just starting out, so my office isn’t much, but I make the most of every square foot. I’ve got my adjustable standing desk, Nespresso machine, four 27” LCD screens to keep an eye on stock prices, a phone with a direct line to the trading floor, an exercise bike, and a minifridge with a few expired sandwiches in case I have to stay late.
I took a peep at Ms. Pie’s office once, while she was using the bathroom. In her 200 square feet, she’s got a gumball machine, a bunch of balloons that she reinflates every week, a disco ball, pictures of Equestria on the wall, and that’s all I managed to see before I heard Ms. Pie voice’s behind me.
“I had a feeeeeling you’d be here, Marky! What’s up!? Do you need something? A lollipop? Or…a stick of bubblegum? If you’re watching your weight, I have the zero-calorie kiiiiiind~!”
After I recovered from the shock—she can be pretty damn frightening sometimes—I readjusted my blazer and tie and I said, “No, Miss Pie, I’m just fine, thank you for the offer.”
Ms. Pie nudged my chest with her hoof, messing up my tie again. “Oh, call me Pinkie. I hate when the magazines use my legal name instead of my nickname. ‘Pinkamena’ just sounds SO not me, don’t you agree? I mean, don’t you just hate it when magazines print your legal name on their cover?”
Gee, I’ll let you know once my name gets on the front page of Fortune.
That’s about the extent of my relationship with Ms. Pie—strictly professional, I assure you. God forbid I become senile enough to be able to stand her scatterbrained, high-pitched yakking.
Sometimes we go out for lunch together. Like most Equestrians, she only eats vegetarian, so we usually get either Indian food or pizza. Y’know how here in New York you only eat pizza with your hands? I wonder if using the tip of your mane to grab a pizza slice is just as sacrilegious as using a knife and fork.
She doesn’t like to talk shop when we eat lunch. She usually asks me about my wife and my two-year-old son, or she talks about any cool TV shows she’s watched. Even after living on Earth for four years, she’s still amazed by how the little pictures move on the screen with a mind of its own.
She’s a good friend, in any case. Last October, before this whole virus thing happened, I came back from a business trip to Hong Kong, and Ms. Pie picked me up from JFK so I didn’t have to call an Uber.
Lord have mercy on the wiseass who allowed Equestrians to drive.
Or maybe it’s just Ms. Pie. Weaving across three lanes on the BQE, illegal right turns, running at least five stop lights. Maybe because she drives a Lamborghini, she thinks she owns the goddamn road. Though I think she’s just hella ditzy. She’s covered the Italian leather seats with this hideous hot pink fabric, and she insisted on blasting music that even my two-year-old son would consider “too childish.”
She told me she was driving fast because she was in a hurry to meet with a client, but that didn’t prevent her from stopping in the middle of the Williamsburg Bridge…to offer me a lollipop.
“Come on Marky, it's my job to make sure you smile! Here, have a lollipop~!” She pulled one out of her poofy Afro. I could see dandruff flakes on the wrapper. But I was so jetlagged that I ate it anyway.
Ms. Pie’s clients are elusive—sometimes I see them go in her office, but they’re surrounded by so many bodyguards that I can’t even see the top of their head.
Well, whatever she asks her clients to invest in, she does a damn good job of it. She occasionally lets a few facts slip during our lunches together. Apparently, the Lamborghini was a thank you gift from a satisfied client—who the hell gives that as a thank you gift!? And then last June, another satisfied client gave her a penthouse on Park Avenue and a summer house in Sag Harbor as a “thank-you” gift. Yes, “AND.”
I’ve asked her for her secret, of course. I mean, she’s got no training in economics, spends her free time eating candy in her office, and she thought the Dow Jones was the name of my next-door neighbor.
She used to tell me, “My secret? I just keep a big smile, trust my hunch, and…most super-posi-tupi-lupive-ly importantly…have FUN~!!!”
Perhaps her clients like her great customer service—I gotta admit, she’s got a way with brightening up your day. She threw a family-friendly Christmas party at her penthouse last year for all the brokers on our floor—I didn’t drink a single drop of alcohol that night and I still had a good time. And that’s pretty damn impressive.
But customer service alone doesn’t make your clients buy you fancy cars and houses as “thank-you” gifts. For a while, I even thought that she was doing really special “favors” for her clients, if you catch my drift. Let’s just say from my office, I’ve heard a whole lot of giggling and squealing on the other side of the partition wall.
It used to be I never truly thought Ms. Pie was a competent stockbroker, you know. I mean, not like I dismiss all the things that Fortune and Businessweek are saying about her. But I still wasn’t convinced that she was the best investor to hit Wall Street.
Until early November, last year.
It was a sunny Thursday, and we were having one of our lunches at an Indian restaurant. We were just about to head back to work.
She wiped her mouth with a napkin, and she just casually said, “If I were you, I’d sell all your shares in Delta Airlines. But keep Amazon.”
And two seconds later, she devoured a whole plate of veggie samosas in one gulp. “Mmm…yummy! Oooh! Is that something floaty~!? Lalalala-laaa…!” And she was running off chasing a ripped garbage bag being carried away by the wind.
I said to myself, “Oh, what the hell” and that afternoon I did what Ms. Pie suggested. My clients were at first pretty mad at me for the “brash” move. But their tone quickly changed when four months later…guess what happened?
Yeah, that’s right. The virus happened, that’s what. The whole tourism industry collapses, while demand for at-home delivery skyrockets, and all the other stockbrokers were self-isolating and watching their stocks tank on their multiple 27” LCD screens.
Meanwhile, Ponka Pink—or whatever the hell she “wants” me to call her—is sitting under the sun in Sag Harbor, probably doing her happy dance under that disco ball that was hanging in her office.
She invited me, my wife, and my son over to her house in Sag Harbor, so that we don’t have to stay in our cramped apartment in the city. It’s still a bit too cold for swimming, but my son loves the indoor slide that she built in the basement.
Yesterday afternoon, while my wife played with my son outside, I sat on a lawn chair next to Ms. Pie, drinking coffee. I asked Ms. Pie the obvious question. “How the hell did you know that the pandemic was going to happen? How do you just…know when to sell and when to buy?”
“Sooo…” she smirked. “You wanna know my real secret?”
“If…if you’re willing to share, Ms. Pie,” I said.
“If you’re willing to stop calling me ‘Ms. Pie,’” she retorted.
“Of course…Pinkie.”
So, she told me her secret.
As a single, run-on sentence.
“Well, the first thing I do is when I wake up in the morning and I have a glass of two percent, not whole but two percent milk with my oatmeal and then I check the clock and if the sun comes up and I feel my tail go all twitchy-witchy, it means the NASDAQ’s gonna be supery-bitchy...”
Forgive me if I can’t recall everything she said. I don’t understand most of it, to be honest. Something about a special sense, a twitchy tail, “achy right shoulder means the market’ll turn over”, and the rest I didn’t catch.
After she finished talking, she made me “Pinkie promise” not to tell anyone. She made me do this weird dance where I punched my eye with my own fist. Perhaps it's some Equestrian version of a non-disclosure agreement. Whatever. Not like I’m worried. Even if I wanted to use Ms. Pie’s secret, I don’t think I’d be able to.
You know, I always wondered why she never moved out of her old 200 square foot office. I never asked her, but I think I know the answer. With her track record, she could be working for some big-name firm by now—but she’s just that good.
She doesn’t need a fancy office or a big corporate empire to be a legendary stockbroker. There’s no one like her. And nothing will ever change that. All she needs is 200 square feet. And a gumball machine. And a disco ball.
Heck, she really is the “Pink Pony of Wall Street.”
Disclaimers:
1) I know very little about the technicalities of the stock market. This is for entertainment purposes and not intended to be an accurate portrayal of the stock market.
2) I am not a medical doctor. Please follow social distancing guidelines from your local health authorities.
3) Pinkie or not, please drive responsibly. 
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I have to admit, if there's anyone who would know the sole five-second period in which it is at all safe to come to a sudden and unexpected stop in the middle of a Manhattan street in a car worth more than my house, it would be Pinkie.
Actually, that is exactly how the stock market works. It's all speculation and emotion. An investor wakes up, has a bad day or a bad hunch, and sells all their stock. Or, they do a bunch of drugs, and feel really good, and buy some random stocks.
Perfect. Her 'secret' got a good laugh out of me.
Very short, very sweet--and most importantly, very fun.
The Stock Market is powered by Chaos.
"YOINK! MINE!"- The entire city of Omaha, Nebraska.
Per "Hurricane Fluttershy", they've got movies. Probably, she's surprised at how tiny the projector is.
I'm not sure what's more terrifying. Pinkie as a stockbroker, or Pinkie predicting Coronavirus.
If anyone's going to be able to time the market, it's Pinkie Pie.
💰💰💰
I trust Pinkie for all my stock advice.
This is a great touch. From most people, this would be a massive humblebrag. From Pinkie, it's a genuine, innocent attempt to build rapport.
It's still a part of your body. I'd say it's fine. Mind you, I'm from New Jersey, so there may be some diverging beliefs on the matter.
And yeah, clairvoyance makes for a terrifying stockbroker. Though there is a bit of prophetic feedback. Acting on foreknowledge changes the market, which alters the future. Though it can't stop viral srpeads, sadly. Still, delightful tale of Pinkie in one of the more unusual environments where she'd thrive.
10221327
Fixed, thanks!
10221602
I myself am a clean hands freak. I even eat wings with silverware. And eating cheap Domino's pepperoni pizza with a plastic knife and fork just makes you that much more classy.
And yes, I suppose that's why Pinkie doesn't want her secret getting out too far. Then every stockbroker would react to her twitchy tail, and there will be that "prophetic feedback" that you mentioned. Which would render her ability useless.
Glad you enjoyed my story!
Brilliant work, can I translate your fic to Chinese? Of course I will list you as the author and attach the link.
10221691
I'm glad you enjoyed reading.
Is this on Fimtale? If so, what's your account on Fimtale?
10221701
Actually yes, and my account is a Chinese word so I wonder that could you got it?
But I would like to send my homepage to you by mail.plz check it.
This was a fun little read. I also have no idea what exactly a stockbroker does during the workday but it seems fairly reasonable.
10221002
Bingo.
Problem with the stock market is that it isn't a reflection of how the economy's actually doing, it's a reflection of how people think it's doing. Best example for this is that the stock market crashed in 1929, which was bad, but The Depression as we think of it (i.e. like 30% unemployment) didn't start until well into 1930, and that was because of widespread bank runs than wiped out people's savings. Of course it's more complicated than this because there was still a lot of money lost because of the crash, and more importantly it shook people's faith and actual, well respected economist still have widely varying opinions on the importance of different factors, and what some of those factors were
10220875
Well said, and very true.
How the hell does she grip the wheel with hooves? Is she even tall enough to reach the pedals? How does she open the door? What does she do with all that money she makes? Did she buy any bitcoin before it's value exploded like 3 years ago? Could she make money in Vegas or off horse racing with the Pinkie Sense? I need answers!Wow, I definitely gotta hand it to ya, this was such a heartwarming and also very humorous story! It's just so so good! I hope ya didn't mind, but I had to make an audio reading of this!
Audio Linkerloo!: https://youtu.be/Z53rgTmZYFY
(I Don't Mean To Offend Anyone With This Comment!)
10221854
No problem, I'd be honored! Glad you enjoyed my story!
Also, two for two, huh?
10221820
Answers:
She's Pinkie Pie.
She's Pinkie Pie.
and...
She's Pinkie Pie.
i.pinimg.com/originals/86/b6/04/86b604ace28dade6e8ac6b04e7e26259.gif
But to be frank, the seats on a Lamborghini are so low that Pinkie would probably fit quite well.
10221884
Ah! I didn't know ya remembered that! x3 It's always a pleasure to read some sweet ol' stories! Yours are prime and amazing!
10221898 And even if not, the Lambo people would take one look at her, say something passionate in Italian, get out their wrenches and make it happen.
Because Italian car designers are insane.
10221983
10221898
Both of these amused me far more than they have any right to. Also, does Germany produce good cars? Toyotas last forever so that's what I use and I otherwise don't pay attention.
10222115 Germans produce very good cars. But those cars tend to come with precise tolerances and maintenance requirements, and when something breaks on one it's going to be expensive and annoying as hell to fix.
Italians tend to produce beautiful cars. And, to be fair, Italians are actually more innovative than the Germans. The problems are twofold:
(1) Italian engineers are a bit like Winston Churchill: they have some really brilliant ideas and some really terrible ideas, but they can't tell which is which, so they pursue them all with the same intensity; and
(2) Once the idea is made tangible the Italians lose their edge and let things sort themselves out. The customer is the beta-tester, and often an Italian car will break down for absolutely no reason whatever. Alfa Romeo in particular was INFAMOUS for this.
There's a reason why, these days, all Italian car makes except Fiat are owned by German car corporations. Lamborghini is a Porsche brand these days...
10222174
Glad to see one thing hasn't changed at least. And the new part actually lasts too!
Very fun read. I love stories like this where you don't have to be updated on the show to understand what's going on.
i.kym-cdn.com/photos/images/newsfeed/001/636/612/bf6.png
10222549
Gee. I was planning to change the cover picture to this, but I'm getting some serious uncanny valley vibes from the "Hello Pinkie Pie" CGI head on a human body.
10222733
Go check Admiral Biscuit's blog. He has one where it isn't a 3d head.
10222733
And you should change the image. It will direct a lot more ponies to your story, I'm sure.
Though I'd ask the original artist if possible. I don't know who that is in either case, but reverse GIS might find them.
10222747
I changed the cover pic. Thanks for the tip, the 2D verison looks a whole lot less creepy!
P.S. Couldn't find the original artist. Reverse image search didn't turn up anything conclusive.
10222757
The new cover art looks good, but the previous art looked great as well.
Have to wonder if what’s shared here counts as breaking the promise.
I am being reminded of this:
https://www.fimfiction.net/story/417890/laughing-her-way-to-the-bank
I suppose my main criticism of the stock tip is the lead time. Pinkie's trigger was probably the first case, but the stock market didn't crash for another few months, and that can be ages in the finance world. Heck, there was a period in March when Amazon's stock was lower than it was in November, but now it is up 50%.
10221002
Or they have a drink too many, and end up trading 7 million barrels of oil, worth $500,000,000 while blackout drunk.
10223043
Yes, I suppose you're right. I thought about making it early March instead of November, but that wouldn't have proven Pinkie's prescience very well.
10223336
I'd have picked January or maybe February. Delta Air Lines started its way down on the 24th of February.
People anticipating a bear market would have mostly made moves starting in February, and the bear market itself started mid to late February. To give Pinkie the appropriate prescience without wasting months, January was probably the best time for her to give advice.
Then again, when a trader who makes the right moves more often than not, makes a big move, then everyone else starts to move too. She might have heralded the crash, and therefore February was the right time.
Pinkie and stock markets was something I didn’t knew i wanted.
10221602
Wait, you're not supposed to eat pizza with your hands?
10224640
No, you're absolutely supposed to eat pizza with your hands (unless the slice is so saturated in grease that it can't structurally support itself when held aloft.) I was just saying that prehensile hair is an acceptable hand substitute.
Would seeing the future be considered insider trading? Hope she doesn't get in trouble with the law.
10225964
Yes, I thought about that. Then comes the philosophical question of whether the future is "public domain" knowledge.
It's Pinkie. Don't question it.
Or maybe its because she went from JFK to the BQE and ended up on the Williamsburg Bridge.
For those who don't know NYC geography, the BQE runs north to south and the Williamsburg Bridge runs east to west. Neither are connected to JFK Airport.
Nice story, but I would KILL to work with brokers as patient as Mark.
10227268
I followed these Google Map directions:
i.ibb.co/HYhsvwR/directions.gif
Based on these directions, she would have taken the BQE for at least part of the trip. Though it's probably more likely that she dropped off Mark somewhere in the Upper East Side, not Wall Street, in which case she would have probably avoided the BQE.
10227289
Oh yeah, Google Maps... yeah, don't take that path. Thats a "shortest path" map and I'm willing to bet that its the "fastest path" because of the virus. (Taking local streets through in Manhattan? What could POSSIBLE go wrong?)
I wonder who suggested Pinkie to become a broker in the first place.
Listened to the audio reading, and just now remembered to log in and upvote! This was fun.
10231551
Glad you liked it!