Silver bullet: Difference between revisions

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It is said that combat troops would often carry with them a single bullet with their own name engraved on it. A superstitious amulet; a warder-offer of the soldier's deepest fear: ''“the bullet with my name on it can’t hurt me, because I’ve got it”.''
It is said that combat troops would often carry with them a single bullet with their own name engraved on it. A superstitious amulet; a warder-offer of the soldier's deepest fear: ''“the bullet with my name on it can’t hurt me, because I’ve got it”.''
   
   
In financial services we have silver bullets, too. They are just as effective at warding off evil: not very.
In financial services we have silver bullets, too, and they are just as good at warding off evil: not very.


The silver bullet is a certain caste of fellow employee. Hard to categorise, but easy to recognise when you see him: the [[weak gazelle]].
The [[silver bullet]] is a certain type of fellow employee. Hard to describe in the abstract, but you know him when you see him: the [[weak gazelle]].


Hi is (frail) flesh and blood; he is the [[survivor]], the bullshit artist, the fellow who, in twenty-five years managing securities financing operations, has never quite got to grips with the idea that a [[stock loan]] is [[title transfer]] — the [[credit officer]] who doesn’t quite apprehend that a bank account involves credit risk, because your [[money]] isn’t just kept in a special jar with your name on it somewhere at the bank of a huge vault — the individual who somehow, doggedly, hang-on to his job, like lichen, anchoring his mortal coil to cold inhospitable rock as the storm rages.  
He is (frail) flesh and blood; he is the [[survivor]], the bullshit artist, the fellow who, in twenty-five years managing securities financing operations, has never quite got to grips with the idea that a [[stock loan]] is [[title transfer]] — the [[credit officer]] who doesn’t quite apprehend that a bank account involves credit risk, because your [[money]] isn’t just kept in a special jar with your name on it somewhere at the bank of a huge vault — the individual who somehow, doggedly, hang-on to his job, like lichen, anchoring his mortal coil to cold inhospitable rock as the storm rages.  


This chap — who shall remain nameless, because I really don’t want to hex him, is in his own way an unknown warrior, inexplicably not yet in his tomb — he is my succour and my prayer for relief: as long as ''he'' survives, may my own days may yet be without number, for my grim comfort is that there remains at least one warm body between me and the wall I will eventually be lined up and shot against.  
This chap — who shall remain nameless, because I really don’t want to hex him, is in his own way an unknown warrior, inexplicably not yet in his tomb — he is my succour and my prayer for relief: as long as ''he'' survives, may my own days may yet be without number, for my grim comfort is that there remains at least one warm body between me and the wall I will eventually be lined up and shot against.