In the nineties a few of us had the job of assessing new recruits. Our method was to march them round to the Sainsbury's on Moorgate, hand each one a pint of milk and see who got through the checkout first. Reading which queue is moving, how fast, and when to jump ship for a better one is most of what trading is, and the test was uncannily accurate.
Except for Crispin, who came last every single time and was, by some distance, the best trader of his year. Eventually we worked out why. He always went for the prettiest cashier and spent five minutes at the till asking what time she finished.
"Lucky for him," Pennyworth remarked, "trading screens don't have tits."
@m74ft1@TheRoaringKitty Becuase all generative AI note the caveat- is just unprofitable overclocked autocorrect with dangerous hallucination baked in. Largest misallocation of capital in history.