A vignette from beyond Wall Street:

Two weeks ago, I was overseas and called my assistant back in New Hampshire to find out what was up. And, after all the tedious business stuff, she mentioned that she’d gone into our general store just before closing and was surprised to find that behind the counter, working the evening shift, was our bank manager (of one of these First National Bank of Dead Skunk Junction-type banks). “Oh,” explained Shelley [name ever so slightly changed to spare her blushes]. “I went crazy with the spending, and figured I could use some extra cash to dig myself out of the hole.”

At first, I was a bit unsettled by this news. When a global conglomerate such as myself is selecting a banker, it’s not generally looking for one who finds herself having to supplement her income with minimum-wage check-out shifts.

But, upon reflection, after Lehman Bros, AIG, Wachovia and a week of will-they-won’t-they Bailout Fever, I wish our gal’s spirit was reflected a little more widely within her profession and those who regulate it. You go, girl.