Trading System - Surefire Trading Learn to Trade Forex

Let's Do the Time Warp Again.

About four years ago my mother gave me the number of a person she knew who "needed computer help". Being a freelance computer guy, I gave him a call.
His name was Andrew, but asked everyone to call him Andy. He apparently had some money tied up in the stock market (quite a lot from what I was told) and used his computer to trade online. Over the phone he asked when I could come over and look at it. He asked that I fix it in-home (something I try to avoid). I said sure and asked for a description of what the problem seemed to be.
"I can't get into my AOL."
I rolled my eyes at hearing this. Can't get into an account? That's a red flag for "I don't know anything about computers". That account is an AOL account? That's a red flag for, "I have an inherent distrust of technology so I unplug my toaster after use so hackers can't steal my credit card information". I shrugged and gave him the benefit of the doubt.
"So what happens? Can you turn on the computer?"
"I don't know. I can't get into my AOL"
Uh oh. As anyone in IT can tell you, someone who responds to a second question with the same answer as the first basically equates to, "I'm a caveman and I think electricity is witchcraft". He then asked if I could just come over and check and if I could fix it. I told him the same thing I tell everyone, "Probably".
So I drove over to his place, which was this tiny one-story house in the suburbs. Certainly not befitting of a brilliant Forex trader, but I withheld my judgments. The man who answered the door couldn't have been younger than 75. A short, weak white-haired man who took roughly five minutes to unlock his iron security gate.
I was ushered into the house to look at the computer. I asked where it was and he directed me to something I hadn't seen in years. His house looked like I had stepped into 1955, complete with terminally ill cat and a sofa with what could have been either floral patterns or a collage of various stains. I was then presented with a monolithic laptop that was resting shakily on a tv-tray built to hold objects lighter than this 70lb monster.
"This is your computer? This is the one you're having problems with?" I asked and prayed the answer was "no".
"This is my laptop. It's newer than my desktop, which I normally use. If you could take a look at that one too, that would be great."
"Oh Joy", I thought to myself. This should be interesting. I didn't even attempt to go to the desktop until I could see what I could do here. I opened the case and was greeted with a small black screen covered in dust and stains and a keyboard with about 7 keys missing. The computer itself was about the size of a small briefcase and weighed similar to one filled with lead bricks. I pushed the power button and saw another grand surprise. The Windows 95 boot screen loaded up.
"It takes a while, let's go look at the other computer."
"A while". Is very generous to how long it took relative to computer standards. This computer booted up roughly a half an hour later. This computer was similar to this one (case might have been the same, the specs weren't): "http://i.imgur.com/qiZDeDI.jpg" . I had never seen one before and it was amazing. This thing belonged in a damn museum. It was made to to run with Windows 3.1 but somehow, someone managed to load windows 95 on it. The hard drive had a whopping 2 GB of hard drive space, measured in MB.
In the next room was his "desktop". This computer was so old I questioned whether or not I was actually being preyed upon by an elaborate prankster. It looked like this: "http://i.imgur.com/2V0zg7P.jpg" but ran windows 95. I didn't even know how. He said he had it "upgraded" at some point. It even was connected using a Baud modem (http://i.imgur.com/A3XMShk.jpg)
I stepped back and began to question my life.
"Can you get me into AOL?"
"Honestly, for the amount you're going to have to pay me to fix this, you could buy a whole new computer."
"I don't care the costs. I don't want a new computer. I want to get into my AOL."
"Well, maybe we could install linux on it and..."
"No I don't want a different system. I want to get into my AOL."
"Ok. Well, I could try to locate a windows 95 floppy..."
"No, I don't want you to reinstall the system. I want my AOL."
"Well, that is the best 100% surefire way to fix it."
"No. I just want to get into my AOL"
"Ok... I'll try."
Over the next hour I tried everything I could to find out what was wrong. I tried every single trick I knew how to fix this computer. It was sluggish as all hell. Every action took a few minutes to compute and I sat there, mouth agape in wonder. It didn't take long for me to realize I was out of my element. There were network problems, OS issues that resulted in crashes, pop-ups and malware, and when I opened the case? Dead cockroaches.
My integrity wanted me to do this. I HAD to do this. I NEEDED to do this. Lastly, I knew I COULD do this, but he placed so many rediculous restrictions (No taking it apart, no reformatting, no different OS, no new modem) that it was literally impossible.
I told him thank you for the phone call, but I don't think I could help him. He asked for a reference, I told him that his stuff was so old he might consider contacting a museum to get references. Probably no one under 30 knows how to fix these problems. Definitely no one would be able to fix it with the guidelines he set. He didn't need IT support, he needed a wizard. I left shortly after with him being very upset at my "attitude" as he put it. He then complained to my mother who referenced me and I told her he was a loon.
I don't know if he ever got it fixed. I never heard of him again. Honestly, I don't even know if he traded stocks. His son or grandson (who he mentioned was "probably way better at this stuff than me") probably just showed him an excel spreadsheet and fed him some lies about how he was "trading stocks". I don't know. It is both the most sad and frustrating job I have ever been on.
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So Here I am, Painting Death In A Canvas.

I am a painter, one of those wannabe kind working on convenience store to fund art school fee and other bills. Not a grand beginning for the story, I know, but that’s life..
 
Graduating from school was easy, granted the school standard isn’t that great, climbing up from being nameless artist is not. A slump after slump and I found myself stuck with the same routine of working late night behind counter waiting for the next customer. Filling the downtime with dreams of all kinds of landscape I could have painted during the day. Sadly most of it didn’t came out as good as I imagined in reality, a little bit off color here and there, fuck up with the perspective and other stuff.
 
So here I am; Staring at another empty canvas a few minutes before going to work, bills loitered on my feet; I don’t even bother to open them. All my attention are focused on the canvas, my supposed masterpiece to pay for all the failed ones.
 
Money from my parents’ death insurance have all but dried up now, I only had this empty canvas and a few others as the only way to bail out from being homeless. My family home occupied quite a large plot of land, and taxes…
 
There’s advice from my friend to rent some room to counteract the bills, but the thought of someone else walking inside our house, using my parents bedroom and shits on their toilet is no go for me. My social anxiety really hits at it worst.
 
Discarding all negative thoughts from my head. I closed my eyes; Clenching it tightly even. Brain worked hard to fill the empty dark space with a majestic landscape. Yet, what I saw is the most lackluster imagination ever.
 
My workplace, just a normal convenience store with nagging manager behind the counter. His face grimmed as if telling me to swap with him so he can smoke cigarette in the back alley. The only reason I was able to stand his tyranny is because of the higher than average payroll, and as if this jackass knew about it, he would work us twice as hard to take advantage of it.
 
Sometimes I wonder if that’s the reason why no one applied the job vacancy for another clerk. There’s only three of us working regularly apart from him. Me, James, the day-specialist, and Tom, our one way drive for all customer support. Things are okay between the three of us, our mutual dislike for the manager may be a small grease on our relationship.
 
James are studying for his night class law school. Already garnering enough money to last until graduation and job hunting. I once asked him why he didn’t just put the pedal on the gas and look for a more comfortable workplace; to which he answer “The moment some miserable sap took that vacancy offer you will not see me near this place again; To be honest, the only reason I’m staying is because of you and Tom. I’m still leaving after graduating though.”
 
Tom is one of those people seem to be bred for the purpose of customer support. Outgoing, cheerful, not blowing up when the customer asked stupid questions. On his day off he would be climbing mountains or snorkeling some mythical saltwater filled with fishes and coral I have never seen before.
 
His souvenir for me is always a dozen of landscape photos, which is a gold pile for me. I always found it to be pretty funny, a landscape painter who is afraid of going outside because he can't paint while someone is watching, or worried that someone might be; So he only could sit inside his room, staring at his friend’s photos before magically transferring it into the canvas.
  Oh, how the wolf would howl at the moon. Desiring it despite incapable of reaching it.  
There’s often times I began to question my life choices, but I no longer have any money to start learning other trades. So here I am, sitting on plastic chair with eyes closed in front of empty canvas hating my boss and contemplating my life.
  Nope, this isn’t going to work. Not today at least.  
I put the canvas cover back, covering my failure of creating some art worthy of a penny once again. Barely stood up before my hand phone vibrate on my desk. A message from James asking me if I’m available to replace him right now, a few hours before schedule. Apparently he just remembered an important assignment due tomorrow, and that Stalin-reborn-and-worse doesn’t allow him to work on it during downtime.
 
Sure, why not, I’m not doing anything productive anyway. Might as well get some extra cash.
 
 
 
The day was uneventful. Average number of customer, average number of unclear scolding, average number of extra hours to pay for not-so-average bills.
 
Tom, being an amazing person that he is. Offered a night out at local bar nearby after we closed the store. Being a poor sob that I am, rarely went out to night entertainment and currently near bankruptcy, almost instantly refuse his good intentions. The keyword is ‘almost’ , as he finished his sentence with two first drinks on his tab. Free alcohol during rough times is as good as water for fishes, and I am a big, thirsty fish right now.
 
 
The bar itself is nothing stellar, no young underage kids doing drugs or puking in the corner. Although I have to give A+ for their beverages collection.  
 
So here I am, trying not to abuse Tom’s kindness, ordered a simple drink before he does it for me; No mixes, no fancy name, just your normal convenience store middle-class alcohol I recognized on their shelf.  
 
The bartender gives me a stern look, as if asking what I’m doing there.  
 
“Easy there John, he is with me. Be kind to him.” said Tom from behind me.  
 
The so-called John just grunted and went to grab some glasses for both of us while pointing to a table in the middle of the room.  
 
“What’s the deal with him?” I asked Tom after we sit on our destined table.  
 
“I forgot to tell you, John only serve to old-timer and their friends. Visit a few times and perhaps he will acknowledge you as customer; if not?, better don’t try to come here without me. John is a bit eccentric, but nothing could beat his drinks.”  
Now, that’s one weird business practice.  
I want to ask more about it, but Tom was already busy answering greetings from fellow customer. So I had to satisfy my curiosity with a good look around the bar. Wondering how good his drinks is to be able to maintain steady flow of customer with low rate of first-timers.  
 
A good bump on the table made me turn my head with the acceleration of Ferrari. John’s face is right in front of me once again with previous stern look, making me wonder if that’s his normal expression. His eyes are locked at me, silently ordered me to stay still on my chair and be nice.  
 
“Thanks John, you are quick as always!” Tom already finished his greetings and nonchalantly tapping John’s shoulder without a care of showdown between us.  
 
“Umm.. I haven’t ordered yet.” My brittle voice slowly raise a question in response of three unknown liquor John brought. Trying my best to avoid the rage of the bartender in front of me.  
 
“Those two are your initiation drink. John will measure your worth and bravery for a fair price of half the usual, which of course, went into my tab. A great deal is it not?” Tom smirked on me, as if he just shared a surefire way to get rich quick on Forex.  
 
I normally would jump at any deal for half the price, being as broke as homeless right now; But still,I am not that desperate enough to just accept suspicious drink for someone who is staring dagger on me, at least if he’s not twice as big as I am and the drink is payed by someone to console me.  
 
The first drink torches my throat, and I can't remember the second one, as well as the rest of the night.  
 
Tom’s laugh and John’s face is all I could remember before everything went fuzzy. although John’s smiling face is somewhat disturbing enough for me to doubt its accuracy. Made me seriously reconsider the value of gap moe.
 
 
 
I woke up the morning after with serious hangover and lack of water in my system; After bumping into all edges on my house furniture, I finally reach the fridge and get a nice cool bottled water to reinvigorate it.  
 
Not too soon after finishing the whole bottle, I heard my phone ringtone from somewhere inside the house. I followed the sound into my bedroom, where the phone just laid itself on the bed.  
 
The screen showed the current call is from Tom, as well as plethora of missed call and message. 13:04 is current time, damn that was one serious hangover.  
 
I raised the phone to my ear and accept the call. Almost missing the ear-hole due to how dizzy I am still.
 
“Yo Tom, what’s up?”
 
“Your goddamn ass is up. Where the hell have you been!? “
 
“Well, maybe I have a hangover? Because last night someone took me to a bar and serve me some weird stuff.”
 
“Don’t you read my message man!? Barry is dead, they found him laid on top of the counter with store’s money scattered on top of him! The police is looking for you right now because you didn't answer their call!”
 
“Barry? Barry who?”
 
“Barry our shitty manager you slowpoke! Our boss is dead and you better call the police station right-”
 
I couldn’t hear what else Tom had to say, as the phone dropped to the floor as soon as I opened the canvas on the side of my bed.  
 
Someone had moved it here from my study room, and only managed to pull cover over half of it, revealing obvious sign of a painting hidden beneath it.  
 
A monstrous and horrifying painting, the exact same layout as I imagined it before going out to work yesterday, albeit with one addition.  
 
A body, laid atop the counter, with blood dripping from it onto the floor. His eyes look directly to me from inside the painting with the same grim; death grim.
 
 
My knees gave out and fell to the floor. My eyes directly in front of a scratch of red paint on bottom corner of the painting. A signature.
 
 
SoHereIAm
 
 
My name is Shia.
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