Just as everyone has a silver bullet, so too does everyone have, intended for them, a personalised, embroidered velvet cushion with a loaded revolver on it. It comes with a glass of scotch. Like a comet, deep in the black space beyond the edge of your solar system it moves, imperceptibly but inevitably, closer to you.

Office anthropology™
The JC puts on his pith-helmet, grabs his butterfly net and a rucksack full of marmalade sandwiches, and heads into the concrete jungleIndex: Click to expand:
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So hush, little baby, don’t you cry —
You know your daddy’s bound to die
And all my trials, Lord,
Will soon be over.

—Mickey Newbury, An American Trilogy

For many this is a deep terror — it must be, seeing how many people doggedly remain employed in the financial services industry for many years longer than common sense would allow[1] — but even the most fearful there is a tinge of relief, release, and hope: that there might be a better place, a better way, or even just that this

The worst case is when your silver bullet is the one who brings you the cushion.

Even so, go quietly.

See also

References

  1. And yes, the Jolly Contrarian squarely falls into that category.