I just passed financial functionaries scratching their heads over, one supposes, a mangled spreadsheet.
As I passed them by, I clearly heard one say “Well, anyhoo. That didn’t work.”
Any? Hoo? People really talk like that outside of chat rooms? OMFG! HuNu? LMFAO! Got Pix?
Sorry, wrong chat rooms….
EMEA,in case you were wondering, stands for Europe Middle East and Africa. It’s the region I’m responsible for co-ordinating, as far as the derivatives business in my bank goes.
The Derivatives business - in general - is somewhat akin to going to the gee-gees and betting on the ponies. Some people read the form, study the riders and runners and place their bets according to their own “scientific” methodology; others just stick a pin in,or like the pink of the jockey’s hat, or reckon they had an aunt Bo who looked just like the nag in question; which is to say they take a punt for their own reasons, and hope for the best.
Either way, some you win, some you lose. And sometimes, despite all your “scientific” methodology, the mare stumbles at the fence, and you lose your stake.
The main differences are that at least at Ascot, when the shot dies down and the cordite fades away, you’re left with enough “prime rib” to satisfy a bistro full of French Gourmands.With derivatives, if the bet goes wrong, you get nothing much more than useless paper and loose bowels.
Which may make the paper not quite so useless after all.
The other difference is leveraging, which would be the method by which the bookie allowed you to bet not only this weeks wage check on “Diamond Dogger” in the 4:15 at Kempton, but also next weeks cheque, and every cheque you’re gonna earn this year. The payout, if you won would be huge. The result, if DD fell at the first, would be…
Well, let’s just say Loose Bowels, Useless Paper and the Smell of Cordite spring to mind.
It would be scary and insane, and no pork-pie hat wearing bookie worth spit would take the bet.
A derivative house, on the other hand…
7:45pm at the far end of a deserted floor 2 of Feng Shui Towers. I spot a cluster of balloons tied around a chair.
“A birthday celebration,” I think. “Set up for tomorrow morning.”
There’s a banner. I can only read part of it, ’cause it’s wrapped around a pillar. Fare, it reads.
“Fare?”