Either we’re too sensitive, or else we’re getting soft, but we just can’t muster up a decent schadenfreude over the descent of Carlos Araya, formerly a $200,000/year Wall Street trader and now a $25,000/year host at the Palm Restaurant, as described at the Wall Street Journal. Is it because he weeps when his little girl asks how much money the family needs to stay in their Battery Park City condo, and Araya “could tell she was counting the money in her piggy bank”? Probably not, because when and if the little dear is forced to move it probably won’t be to Miss Hannigan’s. Is it because Araya has, in his downfall, “learned to tie pony tails, inadvertently shrunk sweaters in the wash and knows which grocery store has the best price on milk”? No; it ain’t the fate of the Dauphin, that’s for sure, and we are far more sympathetic to fathers who have to learn how to steal groceries without getting caught. Is it because Araya seems like a decent fellow? Actually the story, soft as it is, hints that he might not have been so nice back when he was riding high (“A wrestler in high school, Mr. Araya was known for elbowing his way through the loud commodities pits”).
Is it because, after the last wave of anger at financial industry dirtbags, we’re all out of hate? That might be. After months of this kind of story, we may have reached satiety, even fatigue. Maybe others have, too. When was the last time you heard the name Bernie Madoff uttered, even in jest? Eventually even the tumbrel and guillotine bored the sans-culottes. Besides, the way things are going, it may be our head on the block next.
But we couldn’t leave this story without someone to hate, so we trawled the comments. “The irony is I’ll bet he voted for the Socialist!” writes a reader. “He can send Chris Dodd and Barney Frank a ‘thank you’ card. I am sure they will be appreciative.” Okay, we’re good now.
Update: Of course, if these monsters go broke, all bets are off.