《Human Capital》


 Jag

    Jag was never very good with algorithms.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry Jag but there¡¯s truly nothing I can do¡± Professor Arming said as he unplugged his laptop, his gaze not meeting Jag¡¯s. ¡°I sympathize, I really do, but look, Wall Street and academia, they''ve flirted with each other before, but after IHOs, they''re fully bedfellows," he continued, putting his laptop in his bag. ¡°Now they look out for each other. If I pass you even though the numbers all point to you failing, and some investor loses money and complains to Whitewater or some other broker, and they complain to the school, then I get fired, you still end up failing, and we all lose. But chin up, you''re a junior, you''ve still got time. If you ace all your other classes then your GPA won¡¯t go down too much, and you probably won¡¯t lose too much market cap. Or just Cap like you kids say.¡± Arming walked over to the door and held it open for Jag, his other arm gently implying that Jag should leave. A poster on the door of a smiling proton saying ¡°Stay Positive!¡± seemed quietly mocking this morning.


    Jag walked out of Arming¡¯s office in a daze. He wasn¡¯t sure where to go; the department head¡¯s office to complain? Maybe to the school psych, make up some story to get the grades invalidated? No, when it came to the human capital markets doctor-patient confidentiality was more theoretical than the theoretical physics class he just failed, and a mental health flag would sink him. Jag found his feet taking him, stumbling at first before working their way up to a jog to the bathroom. There Jag burst into the closest stall and threw up. He flushed and wiped his mouth with a square of toilet paper. Lowering the lid, he sat on the toilet, head in his hands, heart in his stomach, and said a quick prayer. ¡°Damn¡± he said. ¡°Damnit¡± he whimpered. He couldn¡¯t fail this class.


    Jag had grown up in rural India. He was always curious, loved taking apart anything he could get his hands on, and loved putting them back together almost as much. At least that¡¯s what he wrote in his IHO.


    ¡°I-H-O?¡± Jag had questioned, years ago. ¡°What¡¯s that Papa?¡±


    ¡°A way to help your family.¡± Seeing the confusion and worry that flashed across Jag¡¯s face he beckoned him closer to the family computer. ¡°Look, pay attention to what I¡¯m doing. An I-H-O is an Initial Human Offering. It¡¯s like an Initial Public Offering, an IPO, in the stock market.¡±


    Jag¡¯s blank face told Papa that his comparison wasn¡¯t working.


    ¡°Ok, draw up a chair.¡± Sitting together in front of the flickering screen Papa used pictures, words, and the wild gesturing of his hands to explain.


    ¡°I¡¯ll keep it simple, I don''t want to fill your brain with this stuff. You need to focus on your studies, it¡¯s a father¡¯s job to know about money. Sometimes if a company needs to raise money it will do something called an I-P-O. That stands for initial public offering. That means it will sell off a part of itself to the public, the P in IPO. Then if people like you and me think the company is good they will buy a part of the company. Now if the company makes money, meaning their revenue is higher than their expenses ¨C sorry, meaning they take in more money than they spend ¨C, then you make money, and if the company loses money you lose money. You understand so far?¡±


    Jag nodded.


    ¡°Good. Now one day someone in America decided ¡®Hey, why don¡¯t we do the same thing with people.¡¯ I-H-O. Initial human offering. Same thing as an IPO but with people instead of companies. Instead of looking at revenues and expenses its salaries and credit card bills, instead of mission statements its ambitions, instead of employees its skills and so on; that¡¯s why we always tell you to work hard and dream big. And instead of going onto the stock market people list on something called the human capital markets.¡±


    ¡°Uh-huh. So if it''s like with companies, does that mean you''re selling a part of yourself?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°Why would anyone want to do that?¡±


    ¡°Well, sometimes you might not have any other choice.¡±


    ¡°So does that mean *we* don¡¯t have any other choice?¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± Papa sighed, ¡°it does. I wouldn¡¯t ask this of you otherwise.¡±


    ¡°And we can do this? I can do this?¡±


    ¡°The rules change from country to country. Lucky for us, India lets kids IHO. Kids in America can¡¯t. Of course their parents can invest in kids abroad though. As long as the money keeps flowing. Don¡¯t forget that.¡±


    They turned back to the computer and worked on Jag¡¯s forms in silence.


    The forms said that Jag was a ¡°brilliant student with a head for numbers like Ramanujan who wants to raise money to go to college, study engineering, and create businesses to help neighborhoods like the one he grew up in¡± Jag actually preferred history and literature but that wouldn¡¯t sell as well. They included some relevant documents, transcripts, awards, etc. to back up their story. Sure, some of them were ¡°enhanced¡± but a phone call here and a bribe there from Papa made sure the regulators looked the other way.


    Later that night Jag lay awake in bed. He was staring at the cracking paint on the ceiling. He sometimes liked to pretend it was a maze. But tonight he kept making the wrong turns at each fork in the road.


    Unable to find his way to the end, Jag was about to fall asleep when he heard his parents whispering through a crack in the door. Jag slinked out of bed and peeked through. He saw his father, head in hands, and his mother slowly rubbing his shoulders.


    The next day Papa came up to Jag with the printed forms. ¡°You know what you¡¯re signing up for right? I don¡¯t want you to think I¡¯m pressuring you into this¡± Jag¡¯s father said, pushing the paperwork into his hands. ¡°Yeah I think so,¡± Jag lied as he signed on the dotted line. A chip of paint fell from the ceiling.


    On the day of his IHO Jag and his family sat around the computer. At noon his name popped up along with thousands of others all over the world. Then it was up to the markets. Trading algorithms scanned the fresh meat in milliseconds. Everyone¡¯s life story, converted to 1s and 0s for the algorithms to devour and digest and defecate a buy or a sell. Jag¡¯s value as a human being, his ¡°Cap¡±, shorthand for his market capitalization, representation of his value as a human, was being figured out in real time. His family cheered as Jag became smarter, stronger, savvier before their eyes; no, scratch that, they cheered as the all important line went up and booed when it went down. Each move up was a vote of confidence, each move down an insult. Lucky for Jag the algos shit out more buys than sells for him. And so, at the end of the day, just like that Jag had more money than he had ever seen. All it cost was 49% of himself. He could¡¯ve had more, but he insisted on staying majority shareholder. Papa conceded him that. He gave Papa half and still had enough money left over to attend University.


    Recruiting departments in colleges all over the world kept an eye on the human capital markets and Jag¡¯s promising IHO got him a spot at a good school in the United States. Once that news hit the markets his Cap increased again. After a year Jag chose to major in both Computer Science and Physics. Dual majoring in such in-demand fields? That¡¯s a Cap increase. He decided to treat himself with his newfound Cap. He upgraded his living situation, his food, his, uh, *entertainment.* ¡°It¡¯s an investment in myself,¡± he rationalized.


    "I was so cocky," he said to no one, alone in the bathroom stall. He pulled out his phone and texted the group chat. "Didn''t go so well."


    . . .


    Maisie: "Oh no :("


    . . .


    Pete: "Tell us who we have to beat up."


    . . .


    Carl: "If Whitewater kicks you out of the dorms can I have your room?"


    . . .


    Jag: "Fuck off."


    "Ugh, the dorms," Jag groaned.


    ¡°Hey Jag, you going to Howard''s party?¡± his friend Pete yelled while skating past Jag¡¯s dorm room. It was the beginning of sophomore year and everyone had just returned to the dorms.


    ¡°Oh shit, yeah.¡± Jag yelled back, closing his books.


    ¡°Hurry up my man, Carls about to drive off.¡±


    ¡°Ok, ok!¡± Jag quickly got dressed and tossed his phone onto the bed. He sprinted to catch up before they left.


    Carl¡¯s red truck loomed in the distance. When Jag was about five feet away Carl started driving. Jag leapt into the back and crawled towards the last empty seat.


    ¡°Asshole!¡± he yelled at Carl.


    ¡°Hey you made it didn¡¯t you?¡± Carl laughed back. ¡°Everyone leave their phones at home?¡±


    ¡°Yeah¡±, ¡°Yup¡±, ¡°Uh-huh.¡±


    ¡°You''re good people. No one has to know about our little adventure.¡±


    ¡°I wonder if this counts as fraud?¡± Jag posited to no one in particular.


    ¡°If so fraud never looked so good,¡± a cute redhead replied, striking some model poses. smiling at him. Jag smiled back.


    As they pulled up to that night¡¯s designated party house Jag timed his exit from the back of the truck such that he would end up walking in with the cute redhead, whose name he discovered was Maisie.


    ¡°I¡¯m so awkward at parties. In high school I was totally the type of girl who would set up camp somewhere and just scroll through my phone¡± she reminisced.


    ¡°Good thing we can¡¯t really do that anymore. Maybe Whitewater did you a favor, forcing you to get out of your shell.¡±


    ¡°Maybe so. That¡¯d be a first. Thanks Whitewater!¡±


    ¡°How much of you they got?¡± Jag asked as they walked into the house. A bit of a faux pas, like asking someone''s age or weight, but Jag felt a bit of a rapport. "They got 42.381% of me. My shares. Same thing I guess," he offered as a show of vulnerability.


    ¡°Ouch. About twenty percent for me. Got lucky. A scholarship bought out about twenty-five percent so they can¡¯t boss me around as much as they¡¯d like."


    ¡°That is lucky."


    The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.


    ¡°I guess.¡± Maisie replied as they took off their coats and threw them onto a leaning tower of outwear.


    ¡°Hey it ain¡¯t so bad. I haven¡¯t found anything that motivates me quite like knowing that if I fail a test I¡¯ll be deported and my family will go hungry¡± he joked to Maisie, who looked back at him with her large, brown, sad eyes.


    ¡°I¡¯m joking. Hey, seriously, it¡¯s really ok¡± he assured her.


    ¡°That doesn¡¯t sound like it is.¡±


    ¡°It is. Sometimes it stresses me out but usually its just a nagging voice in the back of my head. Kind of sounds like my mom.¡± Her smile told Jag that he successfully lightened the mood.


    ¡°You ever think about buying back your shares? Buying out Whitewater?¡± she asked him.


    ¡°You can do that?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, it¡¯s called taking yourself private.¡±


    ¡°How much does it cost?¡±


    ¡°Whatever your Cap is.¡±


    ¡°Hah, I definitely don¡¯t have that kind of money on me right now. Not to brag or nothing but I have a *pretty* high cap¡± he said, bragging.


    ¡°Not like right now,¡± she rolled her eyes, ¡°but in the future.¡±


    ¡°Maybe I will.¡± With that they proceeded into the party together.


    The debauchery that took place that night was immortalized only in the minds of the partygoers; not you, not me, and definitely not Whitewater.


    Jag eventually woke up. He¡¯d somehow managed to find his way home. Alone. He checked his phone groggily.


    ¡°Pix from last night <3¡±


    ¡°I still can¡¯t believe what we did to Carl¡¯s truck lmao¡±


    ¡°Dude do u know what the hell happened to my truck???¡±


    ¡°Yesterday you logged 6 hours studying. Impressive! Good luck on your exam today! - Your friends at Whitewater¡±


    Jag groaned. He rolled out of bed with all the urgency he could muster, that is to say almost none, and hobbled over to his computer to begin the online exam.


    That was a year ago. He felt so carefree that day. A lot can change in a year, huh? He got off the toilet and quickly composed himself. He exited the stall and walked with some purpose to the sink. He washed his face and his hands of what was about to happen.


    Jag left the bathroom and, purposefully avoiding looking at his phone, made his way to the library. He began climbing the stairs to the sixth floor, the one reserved for the IHOd students. His friends should be there, studying for their Algo finals. He drummed his fingers on the banister the whole way up.


    ¡°You know how Arming is, he''s such a dick¡± Jag repeated over and over, practicing his delivery. ¡°You know how Arming is, he''s such a dick,¡± he repeated with a lilt in his voice. ¡°You know how Arming is, he''s such a dick,¡± this time with a smirk. Yup that was the one.


    Jag made it to the sixth floor and took a minute to catch his breath, more out of nerves than exhaustion. He headed to the Whitewater wing, paused outside the study room, saw his friends laughing inside. A slight grimace flashed over his face, a sucking in of air through his teeth, then his rehearsed smirk. He held his phone to the scanner. It flashed green, letting him in; the grades weren¡¯t posted yet.


    ¡°Hey man,¡± his friend Pete greeted him, ¡°what happened with Arming?¡± he said as he moved his bag off a chair.


    Jag sighed. ¡°I don¡¯t know man¡± he responded as he slumped down next to Pete. ¡°Aghhh."


    ¡°That bad huh? Screw him man. It¡¯ll be ok, just kick this Algo final¡¯s ass and you¡¯ll be fine.¡±


    ¡°Screw you Pete. You sound just like Arming¡± Jag thought. ¡°These aren¡¯t the algos I¡¯m worried about¡± he said aloud.


    ¡°C¡¯mon man, it¡¯ll be fine, I promise. I failed a class before. I¡¯m still here.¡±


    ¡°Your investors aren¡¯t gonna jump ship just cause you failed one class¡± chimed in Maisie. She gave him a reassuring smile. ¡°Their algos are smarter than that, they look at tons of data points, they''re ''holistic''. Your grades for once class are basically just noise.¡±


    ¡°Yeah dude they¡¯re probably too busy analyzing what you had for breakfast this morning. Or if you had breakfast this morning. Most important meal of the day and all that¡± Pete suggested. ¡°If I had an algo that¡¯s what I¡¯d do. It¡¯d be stupid not to¡± he continued. ¡°Here¡¯s how you¡¯d do it. You ask them to take a picture of their breakfast. Use machine learning to figure out what it is. Break it down to the macronutrient level. Protein, carbs, fats. Figure out how healthy they are. There¡¯s some biological relationship between -¡±


    ¡°Oh my god shut up¡± Maisie interrupted. Pete could go on for hours if someone didn¡¯t stop him.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know what they do but it¡¯s probably not that¡± Jag said. No one save an algo¡¯s makers really knew its secret sauce. And even they barely had a handle on it at this point. Many a student had tried to decipher their ins and outs to game the system, and no one had anything to show for it besides a lower Cap.


    ¡°I think what Pete was trying to say was that if the nerds at Whitewater can get away with writing a trading algo so bad that it would sell off one of its best investments just because you did poorly in one class and they still ended up rich then you¡¯ll definitely be able to write an algo that can pass your final.¡± she finished.


    ¡°I guess,¡± Jag said unconvinced.


    ¡°Dude I bought some shares in you, and I know my investments gonna pay off. Diamond hands baby,¡± Pete chimed in. That got a weak smile out of Jag.


    ¡°I might have to sell my shares in Maisie if they drop me so I can buy some ramen¡± Jag joked back.


    ¡°Hey don¡¯t tank my Cap, I can¡¯t go back to the crappy school dorms.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, bet you can¡¯t give up your vape either.¡±


    Maisie laughed at that.


    ¡°Kidding, kidding.¡±


    They began studying. Jag focused harder than he had in a long time. Until he felt his phone buzz.


    ¡°What¡¯s the time complexity of a merge sort?¡± Maisie read off an index card.


    BZZZZZZZZZZZ


    ¡°Uhh, N squared¡±, he replied.


    ¡°No, not quite.¡±


    ¡°Is it N log N?¡±


    ¡°Yeah there you go!¡±


    BZZZZZZZZZZZ


    ¡°I should¡¯ve known that, that¡¯s beginner stuff¡± he said.


    BZZZZZZZZZZZ


    ¡°You have a lot on your mind. Whats the space complexity?¡± she continued.


    ¡°O(N) space complexity.¡±


    ¡°Yup!¡±


    He felt it buzz a few more times before quieting down.


    After a few more rounds with the index cards they moved over to the whiteboards - a little old-fashioned but they enjoyed using them more than their laptops. They worked over a few problems, arguing over the most efficient approaches, the choices the algorithm should make at each step, whether it should let Jag live or die. At least, that¡¯s what it felt like to Jag.


    They were interrupted by a knock on the door. Campus security.


    ¡°There a Jag here?¡± the guard questioned.


    ¡°Yeah that¡¯s me¡± Jag responded.


    ¡°You know this areas for Whitewater students only right?


    ¡°Yeah, I am one?¡± he responded.


    ¡°Not as of fifteen minutes ago. They dumped you. And sent us a notification to kick you out.¡±


    ¡°But he¡¯s with us!,¡± Pete and Maisie protested.


    ¡°Doesn¡¯t matter. You''re not paying me, it¡¯s Whitewater what pays for these spaces and my salary. Look, take it up with them if you want, but for right now you can study anywhere else, just not here. Sorry to be the bearer of bad news.¡± He looked more annoyed than sorry.


    Jag¡¯s face went red. He packed his things, the security guard watching him the whole time, and left. He was at the staircase when he heard Maisie yell ¡°Hey wait up!¡± She jogged over; Pete was behind her, stuffing papers into his bag as he walked.


    ¡°We don¡¯t need to study there. We can find a bench somewhere.¡±


    ¡°Yeah¡± Pete chimed in. ¡°We don¡¯t need those comfy chairs, or that projector, or those whiteboards, or that -¡±


    ¡°Haha I get it ¡­ asshole¡± Jag laughed. Pete smirked back at him.


    ¡°C''mon, let¡¯s finish¡± Pete said. The three of them went to the public wing of the library and found a small corner to study in. It was cramped, loud, and uncomfortable, but at least there weren¡¯t any cameras watching them, any algorithms studying them, any expectations placed on them.


    It was one thing to not live up to your parent''s expectations of you. Another thing entirely to not live up to your own expectations of yourself. But Jag and his therapist could deal with that. But the nebulous, constantly changing expectations of dozens of algorithms, informed by traders, influenced by trends, and occasionally totally upended by some policy change or paradigm shift. It was *exhausting*. And therapy hadn''t caught up to that.


    Later that night Jag paced in his dorm room. He kept checking his bank account, but not his cap. That he''d find out soon enough.


    Right on cue he got a call from his father.


    ¡°Hey Papa.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s going on? Are you ok? What happened?¡±


    ¡°Nothing happened. I¡¯m totally fine.¡± Jag feigned ignorance. ¡°You¡¯d think I was in the hospital¡± he thought.


    ¡°Your Cap Jag! I wake up and it¡¯s down in the gutters - you¡¯d better be in the hospital or something!¡± There was some anger in his voice. Jag couldn¡¯t recall the last time his father sounded angry.


    ¡°I failed my Physics class and Whitewater dropped me. Guess the money stopped flowing.¡±


    ¡°What, did you hit your head? Did you forget what that means?"


    ¡°No. I''ll send back what I can to help. We''ll manage, somehow. But I need to do this now. I¡¯m sorry Papa.¡±


    Jag heard his father yelling through the speakers as he hung up.


    The next day Jag walked into his Algorithms final. He flashed a smile to Maisie and Pete and got into his seat. They logged in to the exam site and began.


    After all their studying Jag knew everything on the test.


    ¡°What is the time complexity of a merge sort?¡± the test read. ¡°N log N¡± Jag thought. He checked the box for ¡°N squared.¡±


    ¡°What is the space complexity of a merge sort?¡± the next question read. ¡°Linear space complexity¡± he thought, checking the box for ¡°Constant space¡±.


    He continued in this fashion for a while, filling in just enough correct answers to not be suspicious.


    Jag was one of the first to finish but he sat in his chair and tried to look busy. Maisie gave him an encouraging smile and a wink when she got up to leave; Pete gave him two thumbs up on his way out. When Jag was one of the last students in the room he submitted his test and went up to the professor.


    ¡°Hey Mrs. Ruman.¡±


    ¡°Hey Jag, what¡¯s up?¡±


    ¡°I totally wiped out on that test. Is there any way you can give me some extra credit or something so I don¡¯t fail?¡±


    ¡°Jag, you know I can¡¯t do that.¡±


    ¡°Please Mrs. Ruman, I already failed my Physics class, Whitewater just dropped me, and if I fail Algo too my Cap will hit rock bottom.¡±


    ¡°Jag don¡¯t try to guilt trip me. You don¡¯t think we all have our own Cap to look out for? Forget the ¡®If I help you then I have to help everyone else¡¯ spiel, it¡¯s more like ¡®If I help you then I could lose my job, my house, and get sued off the face of the earth¡¯. I¡¯m sorry bud.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s ok, I understand¡± Jag said. ¡°Gotta sell it for the cameras¡± he thought, ¡°and for them,¡± catching Maisie and Pete staring through the glass pane in the door. They slunk away.


    Jag left the room and met up with Maisie and Pete outside. ¡°I caught you looking.¡±


    ¡°Can¡¯t blame us for being curious. Everything ok?¡± Pete asked.


    ¡°Yeah,¡± Jag let out a big breath, ¡°I think it will be.¡±


    ¡°Uh-huh¡± Pete said, one eyebrow cocked quizzically. ¡°Lunch?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, let¡¯s go, I¡¯m feeling paninis.¡±


    ¡°Fine by me¡± Maisie said, throwing a curious look at Jag. He shrugged back at her.


    The three of them headed off to lunch.


    Things move a lot quicker in academia ever since the algorithms got involved. As soon as Jag hit submit his multiple-choice answers were instantly scored. His grade was 60% so far. While he was talking to Maisie and Pete his code was sent to a scoring bot where it was tested to make sure it ran correctly. 58% now. As they walked to their favorite panini place the paragraphs Jag wrote for the short answers were sent to AI graders which quickly scanned it for the right keywords, structure, themes, and gave it a score. 61%. Jag ordered a vegetable panini and as the cook was making it his scores were put together and logged in the school blockchain. Thirty seconds later the update was broadcast to a thousand algorithms who parsed it, sliced it, diced it, and shoved it into their black box. Jag was eating his panini, joking with Pete, flirting with Maisie in the meantime.


    They headed back to their dorms, more than ready to put their semester behind them. The "IHO STUDENTS ONLY¡± sign seemed quietly mocking this afternoon and shook Jag out of his good spirits. He said goodbye and headed up to his room. The linoleum floors shined a little brighter today. If he was even still a student next semester he wouldn¡¯t be living here anymore but in the decidedly less nice school housing. If he could even afford that. But that was a problem for tomorrow¡¯s Jag. He lay down on his bed. He didn¡¯t check his cap, he knew he¡¯d find out soon enough.


    Right on cue he got a knock on his door. He got up and opened it, and Maisie let herself in. She sat down on his bed.


    ¡°Jag what the hell? You got a 61? Why didn¡¯t you say anything? I knew something was up, but like why -¡±


    Jag kissed her. Maisie was surprised but unopposed, and kissed him back. Her lips tasted fruity.


    Jag reveled in his newfound ownership over his own body. There was no one to answer to anymore. He was in charge now. And his first executive order was pushing Maisie onto her back. This was a merger, an acquisition, a hostile takeover. This was freedom. Freedom to kiss her neck, her chest, down her body until...


    An hour later they were under the covers, Maisie cuddled up to Jag, her head on his shoulder.


    ¡°That was unexpected,¡± she said, ¡°but in a good way! But not good enough to make me forget about your Cap.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s all anyone ever talks about anymore. Cap this, cap that; what if I don¡¯t care about my Cap?¡±


    ¡°Jag -¡±


    ¡°Dont Jag me. It''s all I''ve thought about since my IHO. It''s all everyone ever thinks about. You included. It''s exhausting. And sad. Did you see that article about the senate voting on lowering the minimum IHO age down to thirteen? They wanna put thirteen year olds through this shit. Soon they¡¯ll be letting parents IHO you in the womb so they can pay for you."


    ¡°Jag -¡±


    ¡°No, I¡¯m done with all that. I want out. I¡¯m going to buy back all my shares and try to rough it on my own. And if I can¡¯t afford to finish school then I¡¯ll figure something else out. I¡¯m smart, I¡¯ll be fine. And at least I won¡¯t have to check in with some goddamn algo every time I take a shit.¡±


    ¡°You failed that test on purpose, didn¡¯t you?¡±


    ¡°For legal purposes I can neither confirm or deny. But I''m definitely happy I did. After all I¡¯ve never been very good at algorithms.¡±


    ¡°Well, I think that¡¯s stupid. But maybe I¡¯m just not thinking big enough -¡±


    ¡°Yeah, it¡¯s about thinking outside the -¡±


    ¡°Shhh, I was talking. Like I was saying, I think that¡¯s stupid. You''re right about Cap, that''s not what''s stupid. But it¡¯s a lot easier to play along than go against the grain. But if you know what you¡¯re signing up for then I support your decision. I¡¯m a little jealous even.¡±


    ¡°Well, I don¡¯t know what I¡¯m signing up for but when has that ever stopped me before?¡±

 Interview

    ¡°Hmm. Huh. I see, I see,¡± the interviewer in front of me mumbled while going over my resume. His eyebrows danced to some unheard beat. Up, up, up, down, up, up, up, down, down, up, down, down, down, down.


    We were two more paperweights in his too crowded basement-turned-office. The only sound, besides Mr. Liotta¡¯s grunts, was a small fan perched on top of a filing cabinet. It rattled every time it hit the end of its arc and doubled back. I was thankful for the interruptions ¨C it would¡¯ve been too quiet otherwise ¨C but it would¡¯ve been nice if it was turned towards me at all.


    ¡°Well Miss Wei. It is Miss right? I¡¯ll just call you Danielle. Your application looks good. 33 years old, good education, no prior boss'' skeletons in your closet. So far so good, so far so good.¡± His voice trailed off as his eyes gave me the up, up, up, down, up, up, up, down, down, up, down, down, down, down.


    ¡°I¡¯m glad you think so,¡± I offered, as politely as I could bear.


    "From where I¡¯m sitting I think you¡¯d be a great asset,¡± he continued, ¡°and I¡¯d like to hand you the job offer right now and get you working A.S.A.P. but, if it¡¯s all right with you, we¡¯d like to run a Cap check first. Totally normal. Just place your pretty little finger here."


    I must''ve made a face.


    "No, I''m not asking you to marry me. It''s just giving your consent to look at your chart. Back in the day we used to do credit score checks but we found this better opens the kimono, really lets us see *everything*. Come on hun, the scanner don''t bite.¡±


    ¡°Oh, yeah, of course,¡± I responded, placing my pretty little finger on the glass bed.


    C''mon Danielle, you prepared for this. After wiping out the last two times. I got this. This is what we practiced in front of the mirror for an hour. Big companies, they''re a no-go. They just run your Cap chart through some formula that spit out a pass or a fail. No humans involved. Guys like Liotta though, I can talk to them. I had an explanation for every little and not so little dip in my Cap. I can wow him with my moxie or something.


    Who am I kidding, I don''t have any moxie.


    ¡°Okay, I will go ahead and pull that up.¡± He poked and prodded at his computer for a while.


    The place was cluttered with office-y set dressing; filing cabinets, envelopes, tacky inspirational quotes around a basement-y core; two bikes with rusty chains, a small TV, a massage chair. The centerpiece was his comically over-sized desk and veritable throne. His domain consisted of a few papers and some baubles for fidgeting with. I couldn''t tell if its sparseness was a sign of Liotta being there too much or too little. But it definitely contrasted with the lawn chair I was sitting on. He could¡¯ve at least given me the massage chair, but there was a pile of dirty laundry there.


    The effect was claustrophobic, overbearing, uninviting. Not exactly the kind of first impression I would want to give off. But I don¡¯t think Mr. Liotta and I would agree on a lot of things.


    ¡°Huh. Ok, ok, I see, I see,¡± he said. ¡°Does this look right to you?¡± He turned his monitor towards me.


    Yup. That was my chart. The bouncer that followed me around, always keeping me behind the rope. I''ve had dates ghost me after seeing mine.


    It went up. Then down. Then up, up, up, down, down, up, down, down, down. Not a, uh, promising trajectory.


    ¡°Um, yeah, that¡¯s me.¡±


    ¡°Great.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, uh, I know it doesn¡¯t look great, but I hope I can explain away or assuage any concerns you may have.¡±


    ¡°Of course, of course. I know more than most how that little chart can hide a whole lot.¡± He looked past me for a sec like he was trying to do some Clint Eastwood thousand yard stare shit. ¡°Anyway,¡± he continued ¡°the day a computer is a better judge of character than me sitting across from a person and talking to them is the day I¡¯m running to the hills."


    "I''ve daydreamed about that before."


    He laughed. That was a good sign I think.


    ¡°Now, with that being said," he continued, joviality-free, "I deal with a buncha deadbeats, and they¡¯ll try to come in here and give me sob stories about how why their Cap is low. Can you believe it? Like I haven''t been going around the block since before they were born."


    I could believe that.


    "So I pay for this service, its called OpenBook, and basically what they do is they, uh, lemme pull up their site. Okay here it is, they ¡®scrape social media accounts, public domain records, and a mix of other sources to help put a narrative to a chart. Never miss a great opportunity or let yourself get duped again!''. It¡¯s like having a private investigator in my back pocket heh-heh. I know you wouldn''t try to pull a fast one on me, you seem trustable. But I already pay for it so might as well use it. So with your consent..." He nodded his head towards the fingerprint scanner.


    ¡°Of course,¡± I forced out through a smile.


    ¡°Great.¡±


    My fingers drummed my skirt as a loading bar slooooooowly filled. I made eye contact with Liotta once while scanning the room; he smiled. I tried to.


    Mr. Liotta was what I pictured the platonic ideal of a pawn shop owner to be. It was wasted on logistics. He smelled like an ashtray, and if you squinted, looked a little like one too. His eyes were constantly roaming, bulging at the ends of their sockets, dragging bloodshot veins all over his sweaty, yet dry face. But they betrayed a quick mind, sharpened by years of what he''d call "wheeling and dealing" with the kinds of folks desperate enough to find themselves in the lawn chair I was now uncomfortably occupying. They were constantly scanning across the screen, the room, the me, looking for any kind of edge. I caught him looking at me three times. But instead of feeling gawked at or objectified I felt defensive, riposting via composure. The effect was claustrophobic, overbearing, uninviting.


    ¡°Looks like it¡¯s done,¡± he said.


    Each move up and down my chart now had a little icon over it. He hovered over one and a little text box appeared, explaining Openbook¡¯s best guess at what was going on in my life at that time.


    ¡°Shall we go over these?¡±


    Last chance to run away, tail meet legs.


    ¡°I¡¯d be glad to.¡±


    ¡°Great.¡±


    His eyes darted over the screen. He sure read a lot faster than I expected him to. They reminded me of a typewriter, racing to the end of their track, *clicking*, and resetting to do it over again.


    "Says here you only IHO''d two years ago. What were you doing before that?"


    "Oh, I was working as an accountant at a Big 2 firm."


    "Big 2? What''s that?"


    "Its, uh, the nickname for the two biggest accounting firms. Also, more or less, the only two accounting firms. They all merged together years ago."


    "You know this isn''t an accounting job right?"


    No shit.


    "Mhm."


    "But it never hurts to have someone good with numbers aboard. I thought you might be."


    Get me out of here.


    "I figured they''d automated all those jobs away by now?"


    "Yeah, they tried to. But there''s too many edge cases, small business owners doing god-knows-what with their books that any AI they threw at it would get sentient just to quit."


    That got a laugh.


    ¡°Looks like after you initially IHOd some algo liked what you were selling. Your cap shot up right out of the gate. Says were going to use the money to start a business. A flower shop, is that right?¡±


    ¡°Uh-huh¡±


    "Why?"


    "Oh, well, I''ve always loved gardening, and I had enough experience working with small businesses that I thought I could translate that into running my own business. I knew how to balance the books at least. And beauty never runs out of demand."


    "No, I meant why did the algos scoop *you* up?¡±


    ¡°Ah, it¡¯s because under my IHO agreement they were entitled to a portion of the companies profits too. Basically an IHO and IPO all in one. Algos love that.¡±


    ¡°Sounds like a shitty agreement.¡±


    ¡°It is. Was. But it was the only I could raise money at the time.¡±


    ¡°Didn''t know flower shops made a lot of money. Am I in the wrong line of work?"


    "Turns out they don''t." You might be?


    ¡°Too much easy money going around these days. Every moron with a business plan they scribbled on the back of some toilet paper can get money nowadays. Shame to waste good toilet paper on bad shit. Not talking about you specifically,¡± he quickly added, ¡°just in general. I had to work hard for my money. Still do. Keeping this ship running ain''t easy.¡±


    This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.


    Yeah, I¡¯m sure it would just fall apart without you.


    ¡°I¡¯m sure its not,¡± I said, putting as much cloying into my sweet as I could.


    ¡°But I¡¯ll always respect a fellow entrepreneur. Looks like the markets didn¡¯t though, your Cap went down shortly after. Poor first quarter results it says, sound right?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, uh, we burned through a lot of money to get the space, decorate it, handle inventory, et cetera.¡±


    ¡°Who¡¯s we?¡±


    ¡°My, uh, business partner, Justin. We learned a lot about everything that, uh, goes into running a business those first few months though. Made a bunch of mistakes I won''t make again.¡±


    We really had put a lot of effort into our launch.


    ¡°If you two are willing to stretch your budget a little I think this place would be so great for the two of you,¡± the Realtor said. ¡°Lots of foot traffic, and with us being so close to Downtown this neighborhood is really on the upswing. And *come* *on*, these gorgeous floor to ceiling windows? You¡¯re selling flowers right? They¡¯ll just drink up all that sunlight, and you¡¯ll definitely have the most beautiful storefront on this street. Think of all the attention you¡¯ll get.¡±


    ¡°I really do love it. But I don¡¯t know. I don¡¯t want to mess up our budget. Justin and I spent hours making it and I don¡¯t want to have to redo it all over.¡±


    ¡°Hey hun, what do you rate it out of 11?,¡± Justin asked. I smiled. Inside joke. Old movie.


    ¡°It¡¯s definitely an 11. I can already picture how I want the window displays look. And it¡¯s big enough that we can have separate areas for everything. The ¡®apology flowers¡¯ section, the ¡®congratulations¡¯ section, the ¡®plant mom¡¯ section. They won¡¯t have to be on top of each other like the last place we saw.¡± I trailed off. I must¡¯ve pouted a little cause Justin came up and hugged me.


    ¡°We¡¯ll take it,¡± he told the Realtor. ¡°No, shh, we¡¯ll make it work. Plus think of all the money you¡¯ll save on lights! It¡¯ll pay for itself with these windows!¡±


    ¡°You sure?,¡± the Realtor asked me.


    ¡°For now. You better get that lease in front of me before I come to my senses though,¡± I replied to her, looking at Justin¡¯s face light up. He always had enough excitement for both of us.


    The next few weeks were a whirlwind. Back to back calls with suppliers, contractors, investors. I took the train down to the store twice a day to make sure everything was on track. When I got home I would work on the decorations myself, threading the vines and flowers through the trellises. Our centerpiece was this beautiful flower arch that would frame the entrance just right. Justin helped me with the machining; together we built something strong, flexible, and beautiful.


    I almost cried the first time I walked into the finished store. I passed under the gorgeous flower arch, flanked by hydrangeas and hibiscus and hyacinths into our space. There were no aisles, just ecologies. Gaps in the arrangements let the light saunter through, framing the next diorama, rays highlighting the reds and oranges and yellows. You could see everything in the store the moment you walked in, almost as if they were right next to each other. But they weren¡¯t, there was so much room to walk around and browse and take in all the sights and scents. It smelled SO good. And the sun, THE SUN. It enveloped everything in this perpetual summertime haze. The effect was welcoming, warm, inviting.


    I snapped a picture for our socials and walked up to the counter.


    ¡°Hey beautiful, you just window shopping or are you actually gonna buy something?,¡± Justin asked.


    ¡°Hi, yes, I¡¯d like to buy a flower,¡± I replied, looking over the display before cutting the top off a lily and putting it behind his ear. ¡°Should that be part of the uniform?¡±


    ¡°I think it should. I know it makes me feel like selling the heck out of some flowers.¡± He pulled me in for a kiss.


    ¡°Consider it done. Oh by the way there¡¯s one more thing I¡¯d like your input on. Its in the back room.¡± I winked at him and led him by the hand. His face was adorably dumbstruck.


    Our opening day was a big success. We managed to drum up enough interest online and attract enough attention on the street to keep both of our hands full. Justin didn¡¯t officially work there but he took the day off at his job to help out. That night we fell asleep on the couch with our takeout in our laps. He hadn¡¯t even changed out of his uniform.


    But what started as a flood soon slowed to a trickle. Turns out people don¡¯t really need flowers that often, and Valentine¡¯s Day was months out. We cut costs where we could but we were already on a shoestring budget as it was. Finally the day came where I had to upload our first quarter¡¯s financial statements to the Cap markets. And they did not like what they saw.


    ¡°Guess you learned that running a business ain¡¯t all sunshine and flowers huh?,¡± Mr. Liotta said, impressed with himself.


    ¡°Yeah, it, uh, definitely came with some curveballs. But I was able to adapt. I''d consider that one of my strongest traits.¡±


    ¡°Looks like it. Your chart shot up after that dip. Let¡¯s see what happened.¡± He brought his face in close to read the little popups on the chart.


    ¡°Looks like you were able to get really popular after changing a couple of things around. And I guess Justin wasn¡¯t just a business partner huh?¡± he winked.


    ¡°Yeah. I, uh, wanted to keep things professional.¡±


    ¡°I understand. We keep things strictly professional here too. Especially when dealing with a lady. Last thing I need is some accusation. That¡¯s why I have a policy of ¡®look but don¡¯t touch¡¯.¡±


    Maybe if I stop eating maybe I can keep the job hunt going a little longer?


    After our first quarter Justin and I took a step back to regroup. The first thing we did was pivot from focusing mostly on flowers and houseplants to include more gardening. It took a little bit of reorganizing, mostly with an eye towards keeping things pretty, but we were able to pull it off. We had our own little farm on 6th Street. Justin tried his hand at being one of those sign spinning people to drum up some interest but kept dropping the sign. But I guess enough people stopped to laugh at him, myself included, that some of them noticed the beautiful store behind him and came in.


    We also started a community garden. There were a lot of green thumbs in that neighborhood that couldn¡¯t find a place to put down roots in their railroad apartments. We had some open space in the back that came with the lease. We put up a greenhouse and put down soil and put up fliers all over letting people know. Soon there were tomatoes and potatoes and herbs of every flavor growing. We started growing a little community. I would show people how to take care of their plants, Justin showed them how he built the greenhouse and how they could do the same.


    Before we knew it word of mouth had brought the crowds back. Our first disciple, Maria, would bring in new people every week. She always took every opportunity to chat with me, and Justin on the weekends when he would help out, about how her new garden was coming along. It was really uplifting to see her take to it so strongly, to see how much she put into it and how much she got out. She was such a godsend; she gave us a warm fuzzy feeling, hope, and enough foot traffic that we could cut back on advertising. Eventually we were doing so well that Justin quit his job to work with me full time. We were doing so well that we weren¡¯t just profitable, we actually had enough to put some away for savings and other such luxuries. The algos noticed and my Cap grew like a weed.


    One day Maria came in, chipper as always. She paced the sections until she saw a gap in customers which she promptly filled, sidling up to the register in her nonchalant way. She propped her head on her arms, propped in turn on the counter and smiled.


    ¡°Hey y¡¯all, hows it going?¡±


    ¡°Not too bad,¡± Justin responded while potting some plants behind the counter.


    ¡°I was wondering if you two would like to come over to my apartment. See what you two have wrought upon the world.¡±


    ¡°Oh yeah?,¡± I smirked.


    ¡°Yeah, believe it or not I¡¯ve actually learned a thing or two coming in here every week.¡±


    ¡°That sounds great,¡± we said together.


    ¡°Yay!,¡± Maria clapped. ¡°See you then!¡± She excused herself to help a customer. ¡°You¡¯ll want the nitrogen rich fertilizers for those!¡±


    Later that night Justin and I got dressed. I put a flower in my hair, not sure why, seemed thematically appropriate I guess.


    ¡°She probably has more plants than us at the rate she¡¯s been going,¡± Justin said.


    ¡°I really doubt that. You look our Monstera in its leaves and say that with a straight face.


    Justin turned to face it. Or a part of it. It was sprawled all over that corner of the apartment.


    ¡°Her Monsteras probably bigger than you,¡± he forced through lips which couldn¡¯t hold back a smile.


    I grabbed a leaf and slapped him with it ¡°How dare you!¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re right, I don¡¯t know what I was thinking.¡±


    We made the short walk to her apartment and climbed all six flights of stairs to her door. Huffing and/or puffing we rang her doorbell. Maria opened the door almost before the bell stopped ringing.


    ¡°Hey guys, I¡¯m so happy you could make it.¡±


    ¡°Wouldn¡¯t miss it for the world,¡± I said while hugging her.


    ¡°Wow,¡± Justin said, looking past us into the apartment.


    ¡°Wow,¡± I repeated.


    She *definitely* had more plants than us. Her apartment was more of a rainforest than an apartment. I almost wanted to use the bottle of wine we brought as a machete to cut through some of the undergrowth. Maria gave us the tour, showing us the different climates nee rooms.


    "This is Spike," she pointed out.


    "That''s one hell of a cactus," Justin said.


    "It''s a euphorbia ammak succulent," I corrected him, "how tall?"


    "9 feet."


    "Damn!," Justin exclaimed.


    We were led into the living room we were suddenly surrounded by petals of all colors. Greens, blues, reds, they were all there, subservient to royal purples. Her bedroom continued the theme; vines, money trees, and pink princess philodendrons. God, it must have been gorgeous in the morning sun. I wanted to just lay down and read a book! I made a mental note to convince Justin that we needed more plants in our bedroom. Imagine waking up to that everyday! Her kitchen was full of herbs which I could just picture her plucking right off the branch and tossing into whatever she was making that day. Even her bathroom had some sweet smelling shrubs suspended by the little rope holders I taught her how to tie.


    We sat down, flanked by a wreath made of pothos. Maria brought us all tea.


    ¡°You like it?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m honestly stunned,¡± I stunned at her.


    ¡°You mean it?¡±


    ¡°Yeah. Justin back me up here. This is incredible.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, you know on the way here I was joking with Danielle about what if you had more plants than us. Didn¡¯t think it was true. Or possible.¡±


    "No, you guys are too kind," she smiled.


    We spent the night talking, laughing, drinking. I gave Maria a few tips on her yuccas; she gave me a few in turn. We made pizzas in her oven. I gave Maria a few tips on her dough; she gave me a few in turn. Justin brought out his poker stuff. I gave Maria a few chips; she gave me a few in turn. I was a little nervous Justin would get bored but he and Maria got along great. I came back from the bathroom and they were giggling at some dumb inside joke. I poured some more wine.


    "Not half bad," Liotta murmured.


    "Yeah, uh, those were the good times."


    "They never last do they."


    "No they do not."


    "Pretty much straight down from there."


    "Things have been, um, tough. But I view it as a character building experience, and think I''m stronger for it."


    "You don''t have to do all that," he gestured wildly "corp-speak. There''s a reason we aren''t having this interview in some the corner office of some glass eyesore."


    "Oh, um, ok. Well yeah, it''s been hard."


    "It''s been hard for a lot of people lately. Buncha charts cross these eyes."


    He rotated his throne away from the monitor and towards me.


    "We don''t have to go into the details if you don''t want to."


    "I''d rather not."


    "I can already tell you''ve got moxie. Just tell me this, whatever sank your cap, it wasn''t anything you''ll bring to this job right?"


    "It won''t. It''s behind me now. All of it."


    He leaned in close, scanned my face. After a moment he pulled back.


    "I trust you."


    "Thanks."


    "My chart isn''t a repeat of yours, but it rhymes; that''s how that saying goes right?"


    "Haha, yeah, something like that."


    "Between you and me, anyone whose chart is just straight up creeps me out a little. It''s robotic." He mimed "Hey hun, think I can pencil in drinking pina coladas and making love at midnight in between amortizing my schedules and returning on my investments?" His mimicry was unsettling somehow. "Do they bill for time spent smelling the roses? Deduct every walk on the beach as a business expense? Nonsense. It''s obscene. There''s a dignity in chaos, inasmuch as they try to deny it, and a solidarity between floaters."


    What the hell?


    "Oh, uh, well from one floater to another, that was very well said."


    "Thanks." He mimed throwing out a life raft. I know that because he followed up with "This is me throwing a life raft." Could''ve fooled me cause it looked like him reaching into his desk drawer and pulling out a job offer. I let myself breath.


    He slid it across the desk. "Look it over, I just need your signature and initials on the last page."


    I picked it up and skimmed over the first page.


    "Oh wait, one second." He pulled it out of my hands and scribbled something.


    The compensation was crossed out. Below it was a much smaller number.


    We made eye contact. "That''s business," his eyes said. They were claustrophobic, overbearing, uninviting.

 Evgenics

    "I called this meeting to go over our results last quarter. Look, it is no secret that we took a beating. I know that, you know that, our investors know that, and soon everyone on the street is going to know that. We''re supposed to be the masters of the universe but right now we look like a bunch of clowns. Our investments in International Talent? Down 18%. Entrepreneurs? Down 22%. Social media darlings?  31%! People trust us with their money, they give us their hard earned cash to invest for them. Because we are supposed to know better than them. And we blew it. Decades of reputation gone, poof." Mr. Nguyen paused for effect, pointing his fork at everything in the room except his salmon salad.


    "We''re not leaving this room until we get to the bottom of this. And until we have a game plan to make sure it never happens again."


    Dirty looks and eye rolls carved out boundaries across the fifty person, $650,000 rosewood table.


    "Quants, what say you? Your bots should''ve caught something like this coming, no?"


    Mrs. Pomel spoke up, with a startle that suggested going first was not ideal, "Our team works hard to make sure we try to account for every possibility. But we''ve all cut our teeth in more, uh, traditional markets. Stocks don''t swing wildly depending on what their shareholders post online that day. Well, not usually." Snickers. "Humans are wildly more unpredictable. And we''re making progress in modeling that unpredictability, Joseph pull up the slides."


    A Jackson Pollock''s worth of lines and colors splashed onto the screen.


    "As you can see, based on the second derivative test...," Joseph droned on. The designers cringed.


    "That''s enough, Joseph. Pomel, dumb it down for us," Nyugen interrupted, poking through his salad, shoveling spinach out of the way.


    "Basically, as Joseph was getting at, the crux of the issue is the optionality afforded to humans. Ever read Isaac Asimov? No? Okay. There''s a long literature about analyzing the behavior of groups in the financial markets. Big news about a company comes out, we can guess what direction and what volume their stock moves. Not as long a literature around analyzing the behavior of one person. Almost none in fact. In a way everyone here is a bit of a scientist, all trying to further humanity''s knowledge on this front. And when you''re a researcher sometimes you get things wrong. Or you think you see something when there isn''t really anything there. But no result is a result, and it means we''ll know not to go down that path in the future."


    "Beautiful speech Pomel, but I think I speak for all the executives when I say we do not give a shit about ''furthering humanity''s knowledge'' if it means going broke. How does that help us now? Are we to limit the ¡®optionality¡¯ of our investments? Why should your quants be getting paid so much to tell us ''no result'' with a smile." Nguyen crossed his arms.


    "Well it would be a lot easier if engineering gave us better tools to work with."


    "Oho, now we are pulling at a thread. Engineering, what say you?"


    Mr. Mollinger glared at Pomel. "I say Pomel is living in a fantasy world. You should see some of the tickets her team cuts for us. Asking us to pull in data on the macronutrient breakdown of what every single person eats for breakfast every single day into her algos. How the hell do you propose we get that?," he answered gruffly, crossing his arms.


    "I don''t know, that''s an engineering problem. Make an app. I bet people would gladly share that if put enough shiny things and wacky sounds in it."


    "Sure, I''ll just staff my whole department on that, and half of design too. For one data point. That you probably won''t end up using, like all the other shit you ask for."


    "Trying new things is part of the scientific method Mr. Mollinger."


    "Building and maintaining ridiculous algos is not part of the engineering method, Mrs. Pomel. We don''t have the manpower."


    "You''ll both have even less manpower if you can''t work together and get me what I want," Nguyen chimed in.


    "Just get me what our bots ask for," Powel smirked.


    "Yeah let''s get everyone to take an IQ test and send us a DNA sample while they''re at it!"


    "Now there is an idea!," Nguyen interrupted.


    "No there is not. I was joking."


    "It seems to me like all your best ideas are jokes. What is with this ''can not do'' attitude. That is not the Three Sigma way."


    "Forget the moral and ethical ramifications. How do you suggest getting people to take an IQ test and a cheek swab? It''d be easier to get their breakfasts."


    "Incentives, Mollinger. We can use the carrot or the stick. Maybe our algorithms ''choose'' to invest a little extra into them if they take the test. Or inversely, they ''choose'' to reduce their investment, due to higher risks or whatever. We can A/B test to see which one performs better. But I believe we may be on to something."


    "We can make them compete against each other," Albert on the Product team suggested.


    "Intriguing, what are you thinking?"


    All eyes were on Albert now. He steeled himself. This was what all those hours had built up to. His chance to speak directly to the CEO, the board, his boss'' boss'' boss. To finally be recognized.


    "Oh, uh, say we define communities, could be at the, um, city level, or maybe country level, or even neighborhood level for some bigger cities. And then we, er, tell the investments there that we only have room for half as many of them in our portfolio. And that, uh, this test will be used to, ah, decide who stays and who goes. Anyone who doesn''t take the test, auto-automatically drops to the bottom of the ranking. Let them sort it out, y''know, among themselves. Make an example of communities who don''t buy in. Dr-drop them all." Nailed it.


    "Interesting idea Mr. Alfred. Mr. Lee, lay out the foundation for how such a tier system may look. I am eager to see what you come up with. Feel free to get really crazy with it." Albert saw red.


    "IQ tests aren''t necessarily the best predictors of financial performance," Pomel injected.


    "Then make your own test. K through 12 did the work, we know if the can read and write. Build off that. Figure out whatever genetic markers correspond to Joseph''s second derivation or whatever, or whatever questions you need to ask to gauge profitability and put something together. Simpler than your charts this time, Mrs. Pomel. And cost-effective. Look at me doing your job for you."


    Nguyen took a bite of salmon and pointed his fork at the table. He chewed slowly, swallowed pointedly, and said "I think we are really on to something here my friends. If we can pull this off we''ll have an advantage no other firm has. I''ll follow up with PR and Legal to grease the squeakiest wheels. R&D, get to it. How long do you think it will take."


    Pomel and Mollinger bounced looks off each other.


    "Three months," Mollinger prodded.


    "We can do our part in two," Pomel parried.


    "Let''s do it in one," Nguyen slammed. He threw his plate in the trash and left the room.


    Pomel and Mollinger glanced at each other.


    ----------------------------------------------------------------


    "Sonia, can you come down here? I need you to read something for me." The question flowed up the stairs, hitching itself onto a cool spring breeze, only to crash against the psychedelic-metal blaring in Sonia''s headphones. The effect wasn''t entirely discordant.


    "Come up here instead, I''m doing homework," Sonia replied in Spanish.


    "You''d make your own old Mama walk up all those stairs? Shame on you," the yell came from below.


    "Shame on you? I could make a song around that," Sonia thought. "Yeah I would, Grandma," Sonia replied, riffing an imaginary guitar.


    Laura came up the stairs, groaning exaggeratedly the whole time. She opened Sonia''s door and flopped onto her bad, only half exaggeratedly catching her breath.


    "You''re a rotten girl, you know that?"


    "Yup!"


    "I should''ve grounded you more."


    "I also put the blame on you."


    "Smart mouth. Why don''t you use that brain of yours on your tests instead of making fun of your poor Mama."


    "I''m not."


    "It''s that music you listen to. So scary. I don''t get how you can even fall asleep here with her looking at you," Mama pointed to a band poster above the bed of a band called "Sleepytime." The main singer wore pajamas and had a headless teddy bear in one hand, its head in the other. And a knife in her mouth.


    "Very easily. Sometimes I pretend she''s watching over me."


    "We had angels do that when I was a girl. Anyway, read this for me. There''s too many big words. Since you spend all your time studying they should be easy for you."


    "I study music. And you''re the one who always says schools the most important thing in the world."


    "After your parents. Don''t make me show you the scars on my belly."


    "Please Mama no!"


    "Then read."


    She tossed a packet at Sonia. Sonia caught it and stuck her tongue out. She skimmed over the first page and made a face.


    "What''s that face."


    "Quizzical?"


    "What does that mean?"


    "It''s like being confused. It''s a word writers like."


    "What''s so confusing. Read it carefully. It''s from those Cap people. It''s important. If you read it wrong we might not have the money to send you to college."


    "Yeah, yeah, I will. It''s saying they want you and Papa to take a test."


    "A test. Lord, when will these people stop asking us to do stupid shi- things for them? What kind of test?"


    "A ''investment worthiness test''."


    "How does that mean?"


    "What does that mean, is what you mean. And I''m not sure, let me keep reading. ''This packet contains all the materials required for your investment worthiness test, including one (1) cheek swab, one (1) access code to an online examination portal, and one (1) waiver allowing collection of personal information.'' There''s something about how to take a cheek swab, something something, blah blah blah, what the hell?"


    "Language!"


    "Sorry, what the heck?"


    "That''s better. Now what the hell do they want with my cheek?," Laura stuck her tongue out at Sonia.


    You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.


    "You''re going to heck," Sonia rolled her eyes, "they want a DNA sample. It says they''re looking for things in your genes that might mean you''re a bad investment or something."


    Laura rolled her eyes. "I''ll spit on them in person if they want it so bad. Like what?"


    "They might like that."


    "Sonia!"


    "Sorry! It doesn''t really specify what they''re looking for. It just says ''markers that would suggest investment rebalancing, like impulsive behaviors, inability to pick up new skills, and atypical thought processing.''"


    "Go easy on me Sonia."


    "I don''t even know what that means!"


    "What else do they want?"


    "There''s an actual test too, not just a DNA test. It says the tests for checking things like your problem solving skills-"


    "I''ll do well on that, all I ever do is solve everyone''s problems."


    "Your problem solving skills, your actual, like, employment skills, and like, your general mental state."


    Laura sighed. "What was the last thing?"


    "A waiver for them to collect more personal info."


    "Like what?"


    "It doesn''t say specifically. There''s some legal junk but I''m not a lawyer, at least not yet, so I have no idea what it means. Says something about what you had for breakfast that day."


    "Now I have to start eating breakfast too?! They want me to get fat."


    "They''d probably lower your Cap if you did too, those jerks."


    "Do I have to do it? What if I don''t?"


    "It says they''ll sell their shares in you, which would lower your Cap, and make you a riskier investment. Oh, and there''s one more thing. It says that our barrio has been underperforming in their portfolio, and that they''re only keeping the top half highest scorers on this test."


    "They''re loco. How can they do that to us? After we''ve sent them so much money."


    Sonia shrugged apologetically.


    "Oh Lord. Poor Carmela. She''s not so bright. Don''t ever IHO Sonia. It''s more headache than it''s worth."


    "That''s like telling me not to grow up."


    "Don''t do that either. Just stay my little baby girl forever."


    "Mom, I''m 14!"


    "Yes, and?"


    "So are you going to do it?"


    "What choice do I have?" Laura shrugged, "I have to do it for you."


    "No you don''t."


    "Yes I do. You''ll understand when you have a baby of your own."


    "Not happening."


    "Yes it will," Laura smiled, and got up. "Give me the things, I should do it now before I change my mind."


    ----------------------------------------------------------------


    A mess of hands worked urgently in the church basement. They were putting together bundles to donate. Christian rock played in the background, at an aptly subdued volume.


    "Did you all get some stupid letter from the money guys?," Laura asked, layering cans of soup at the bottom of a duffel bag.


    "S¨ª, they sent me one too.," Donna said, not looking up from the shirts she was folding.


    "Me too," Carmela said, playing with the toys before putting wrapping them.


    "What are you going to do?," Laura followed up.


    "What can we do? They''ll drop us if we don''t play along. Oh, look at this shirt, it''s disgusting." Donna made a face, tossing the shirt in the trash.


    "My daughter loves that band. They''re too scary for me."


    "When is she going to come back to the church? I haven''t seen her beautiful little face in years. She always wanted to play the piano during mass. Now she''s old enough, you should tell her she can."


    "Oh, I don''t know. I ask her to come every week but she doesn''t want to anymore."


    "My daughter comes every week."


    "That''s nice. I don''t want to force Sonia to come though."


    "You''re her mama not her friend."


    "She''ll come when she''s ready. Anyway, about the test. Did you see that they''re only going to keep the top half of us in their portfolio?"


    "Eh?," Carmela looked up, "Where did you hear that?"


    "It said in the letter."


    "Oh my god. I didn''t read that far. Dios m¨ªo, what am I gonna do? "


    "Did you take it already?"


    "S¨ª, I just wanted to get it over with."


    Laura and Donna put their soups and shirts down and gathered around Carmela.


    "How was it?," Donna interrogated, "what do they ask about?"


    "I don''t remember, there were a lot of questions. There were shapes and patterns and puzzles and other mierda."


    "Shapes and patterns? Like a math test?," Laura continued.


    "No, just asking like what shape comes next in a pattern. I didn''t pay too much attention, I didn''t think it was important." Carmela was on the verge of tears.


    "Honey it''ll be ok," Laura consoled.


    "Was the test in english, like the letter?" Donna interjected.


    "No, you could take it in Spanish, that wasn''t an issue."


    "Good, what else do you remember?"


    "Uh, there were some confusing questions. Stuff like ''spell backwards, forwards.'' I was like what do you want? Just write the word ''backwards''? Or forwards, spelled backwards?"


    "Ugh."


    "Thanks Carmela."


    "Hey Laura could you help me in the storeroom for a moment?"


    "Oh, sure Donna."


    Carmela stayed, putting toys in the bag absentmindedly.


    "Sounds like Carmelas not going to make it," Donna said, now out of earshot.


    "Probably, poor thing. I don''t know what she''s going to do with that boy of hers. He''s so much trouble already."


    "S¨ª, we''ll pray for her. But what are we going to do? Me with my Elizabeth, you for Sonia?"


    "What do you mean?"


    "Aren''t you paying attention? How do we make sure we''re in the top half?"


    "I don''t know, study?"


    "Don''t talk to me like I''m Sonia. We''re adults here, madres, we can''t leave it to chance. If there isn''t enough room for everyone, we need to make sure the right people stay on. People in our church. We can use the money to help the others. We don''t know if they would do the same for us."


    "Donna, what are you saying?"


    "We can help each other. During the test."


    "I don''t like that. I''m not a cheater."


    "Don''t give me that crap. I don''t mind lying to those putas and I don''t think God does either."


    "I don''t care about lying to *them*. I care about the rest of the neighborhood. It''s not fair to them. Some of them work Sundays, they can''t even come to church."


    "And we''ll take care of them. But we need to make sure God''s house is in order first."


    "God''s or ours?"


    "Both."


    "Ok, forget right or wrong. What if they find out?"


    "Then we get dropped, just like we would have been anyway."


    "What if none of us take it. They can''t drop all of us right?"


    "Of course they can! You think they give one shit about us? And do you really trust, I don''t know,  Raymond Cruz to not just take it behind everyone''s back."


    "You think he would?"


    "Of couuuurse," Donna drew out the statement, twisting it with sarcasm and exasperation. "I don''t like putting myself in a situation where I have to trust everyone else to behave. I trust myself, that''s it. And maybe you. But not if you keep this up."


    "Ok, ok. I''ll do it. For Sonia. And the barrio."


    "Good, we can text each other answers, make sure we win."


    "I don''t know if win is the right word."


    "Continuamos then. I''ll set up the chat."


    ----------------------------------------------------------------


    Downstairs a fan shook violently, pushing not enough air over Laura. "Can''t let them ruin my Cap," she thought, "or I won''t be able to repair the A.C. before it starts getting hot in April."


    She turned on her computer and logged into the portal. Warm, inviting colors showed her her current Cap, her price history, her investors. It was all so saccharine. A green box, with a weird stretchy blue cartoon character pointing at it to make sure she couldn''t miss it, led to the test. She put in her code and her webcam turned on. "This call is being recorded," a robotic voice announced.


    "Eh?"


    "Hello Miss Sanchez," said the man on her screen.


    "Who the hell are you?"


    "I''m Mr. Kaur, I''ll be proctoring your exam today."


    "I didn''t know there was going to be someone watching me. I look like shit."


    "Do not worry Miss Sanchez, I am only here to make sure you do not cheat, not to judge your appearance."


    *Shit.* "Can I go brush my hair or something at least."


    "No, we should begin. I, like you, am partially graded based on my efficiency. Got to go fast, you know?"


    "Seriously? The test better not grade me on my appearance. Seems like it grades everything else."


    "The test does not, at least for the moment. Thank you for your understanding. Have you read over the preparation materials."


    "No, because you only sent them in English. My daughter helped me understand them."


    "My apologies Miss Sanchez. I''ve heard this from a number of test takers before you. Rest assured, Three Sigma is aware and will take steps to rectify this. Do not worry, the test itself is in many different languages."


    "Great, I''d like to take it in Spanish if possible."


    "I can do that. Please take a moment to read the instructions on the screen and feel free to begin."


    Laura squinted. Quizzically, maybe?


    "Who wrote this?"


    "What do you mean Miss Sanchez?"


    "These instructions. They don''t make any sense. The Spanish is awful."


    "How so?"


    "The grammar and stuff. Right here it says to put my laptop in the sky." *How did Carmela understand any of this?*


    "Are you sure that you are fluent in Spanish Miss Sanchez?"


    "Are you joking with me?"


    "I don''t mean to offend Miss Sanchez but I''m sure the test is translated appropriately."


    "What''s your native language?"


    A pause. "Hindi."


    "Did you take their test? In Hindi?"


    "I am not at liberty to share that Miss Sanchez."


    "Okay, but did you see the test in Hindi, you know, for your work while proctoring or something."


    A pause; "Yes Miss Sanchez."


    "Was it correct?"


    "There were some mistakes here and there but you can guess to the meaning of the questions more often than not."


    "And that''s okay with you? And the test takers? And the guys who made it? I can get a question wrong because they were too cheap to hire real translators and used some program and I''m the one who gets punished?"


    "It is the position of the company that the algorithm used to translate the test has an acceptable accuracy and can not be used to challenge the results of the test. That was in the waiver you signed Miss Sanchez."


    "Who reads all that? It was like two hundred pages. In English!"


    "I''m sorry for any inconvenience Miss Sanchez, but no one forced you to sign anything."


    "You guys did! You threatened me! Saying I''d have less money if I didn''t do this bullshit!"


    "Please don''t get angry at me Miss Sanchez, I have no more control of this than you do, I am simply proctoring your exam. I do not have the power to change any of these processes, and I am merely doing my best, like yourself.


    "I can *feel* my blood pressure going up."


    "I am sorry to hear that Miss Sanchez - for what it is worth, mine has also been high, in the sky, like your laptop.


    "Was that a joke?"


    "A poor attempt at one, I apologize."


    "No, no, it was funny. Kind of."


    "Thanks."


    "I''d quit my day job if I were you."


    "Oh I could never afford that."


    "It''s a saying. Like if someone is not funny you say ''don''t quit your day job,'' because - whatever, jokes aren''t funny if you have to explain them. It''s a compliment."


    "Thank you Miss Sanchez."


    Laura flashed a smile. Mr. Kaur''s mustache just barely twitched upwards.


    *I can use this.* "Before we start, I just want to say I''m sorry. For snapping at you. It''s just, I have a daughter, it''s just the two of us, and this test has been so stressful. I can''t get dropped. For her. And now with the translation so bad, I might get dropped and it wouldn''t even be my fault." Laura started tearing up.


    "Please don''t cry Miss Sanchez. I''m sorry."


    "I''m sorry, I''m sorry. It''s just, could I maybe use a translating app on my phone or something? I won''t cheat, I promise."


    "Miss Sanchez, I don''t want to be a hardass. I''m paid to be. And I apologize on behalf of Three Sigma about the translation quality. While I wish I could let you use a translating app, that is strictly forbidden. It''s my job to watch you and make sure you can''t cheat. And I have to do so, to the best of my ability. It is unfortunate that I cannot see everywhere in your room, such as under you desk, but as long as you do not use a phone where I can see it then I am satisfied."


    "Oh. Well, you''re just doing your job I guess." She winked. His eye barely twitched closed.


    ----------------------------------------------------------------


    "Mama I''m home," Sonia yelled through the door. The sound thrashed its way through the house, in a matter entirely discordant.


    "Great, can you come here Sonia?"


    "Sure, what''s up."


    "I got a letter from the Cap people. I need you to read it."


    "Oh god, not again."


    "It''s a lot less this time."


    "That could either be really good or really bad."


    Sonia clambered up the stairs.


    "Why are you in my room?"


    "I was waiting for you. I''m too nervous to open it."


    "You couldn''t wait downstairs?"


    "Do you pay rent? No? Then it''s my house and I can wait wherever I want. Why, are you hiding something?"


    "Ok let''s read that letter!"


    Laura frowned.


    Sonia''s eyes darted across the page.


    "Blah blah blah."


    "Dont ''blah blah blah'' me, tell me what it says."


    "Just a bunch of garbage about how the results of the tests, and ''any actions taken thereafter'' are legal. Covering their as-butts."


    "How''d I do?"


    "Pretty well! They''ll keep you on as an investment!"


    "Oh thank God!"


    "How much do I get? Without me passing you answers you would have failed!"


    "You get a room and free food. That was for your own good, not for me. Anyway I wouldn''t have needed to involve you if Donna had answered. I guess she couldn''t sweet talk her proctor like I could. Poor woman, I hope she''s ok. And Mr. Kaur too."


    "Yeah I heard a lot of people got dropped."


    "We''ll pray for them."


    "How will that help?"


    "Sonia!"


    "Sorry, sorry."


    "You''re a good girl, but you''re too bold. Now take this poster down. I''m going to bring you a little nativity scene to look at instead."


    ----------------------------------------------------------------


    Nguyen chewed unhurredly. Furtive glances bounced across the room. He''d really need to teach these people the value of a well-placed silence.


    "So, Joseph, how are we doing?," he said after washing his bison down with wine.


    "Uh, doing well Sir. All our metrics and KPIs have decidedly recovered since last quarter. I''ve prepared some materials," he said while sharing his screen.


    "An executive summary huh? Very nice! Looks like the metric of ''odds Joseph is still working here'' just went up."


    Joseph blustered out a smile.


    "Yes, very nice, very nice. Investments up across the board. Looks like we are doing quite better than the competition. All it took was the balls to make it happen. Pomel, Mollinger, what say you?"


    "After you," Mollinger offered.


    "No, please go ahead," Pomel responded.


    "Thanks. I gotta say, the team really outdid themselves here. The test is cheap, it''s scalable, and it''s hard to replicate. We did some cryptographic magic that works well with the rest of our processes, but would take other firms a while to catch up to. And quant really stepped up, absolute pleasure to work with."


    "Fantastic. Let''s compound this advantage until no one can stand up to us! Pomel?"


    "The tests have increased our predictive powers by a considerable amount, as Joseph''s slides show."


    "Yes, we can all read."


    "What isn''t on the slides is the competitive angle someone mentioned in the last meeting. Was it Lee?" Lee nodded. Alfred seethed. Or was it Albert?


    "People are prepping for this test now. Some enterprising folks have started a whole test-prep industry around this."


    "As long as it doesn''t take away from their income we can use this to our advantage. Maybe another revenue stream. Sell test-prep materials, license out the test?" Nguyen pondered.


    "And credit where credit is due, the media people seeded the competitive element incredibly well. People are breaking down our door to give us their information! E2E is up 300% in the last month alone!"


    Nguyen clapped, "That''s the moneyshot! There''s something I can take away back to our investors! You all deserve a round of applause!"


    One well-timed round later, Nguyen continued "Now, I''ve heard some chatter about non-english versions of the test being poorly translated."


    "Yes, by design," Pomel responded. "And a great bit of engineering on Mollinger''s part. The test algorithmically adjusts itself, translating itself better or worse depending on whether or not we want to drop that investment. It''s so subtle that by the time anyone catches on we''ll have made so much money we can pay off any fine. And keeps us in the clear of whats left of the anti-prejudice laws."


    "You two are brilliant."

 Bubble boy

    ¡°The Senate has just voted, 96 to 4, to lower the minimum age to IHO from eighteen to thirteen. This change came about after increased lobbying and record political contributions from the IHO industry. Lawmakers claim that the lowered age will allow high school students to better invest in their future, and make college admissions more equitable by allowing lower income students to afford better resources. Critics like Paula Oberdeen here say it¡¯s exploiting our youth. Paula what do you have to say to the Senate after their momentous ruling?¡±


    The camera panned to a middle aged woman holding a sign that read ¡°IHOpe that IHOs get banned!¡± She looked like someone who wasn¡¯t used to their voice being heard, but was damn ready for that to change.


    ¡°These IHOs, they¡¯re, they¡¯re a noose. They''re at, what, like sixty, seventy percent of the country IHO''d but that¡¯s not enough for the bloodsuckers who run Whitewater, Paxian, Aeron, and the rest of them! Now they¡¯re going after our kids. Our kids! And we have to say, we can¡¯t let them do this, enough is enough. Kids can¡¯t handle that kind of stress. They aren¡¯t responsible enough, mature enough, to have to put on airs for some corporate suit to justify their ¡®value.¡¯ Let kids be kids, write your senator to raise the age back to 18!¡±


    ¡°Thanks Paula.¡± The camera panned back to the practiced smile of the reporter. ¡°Now back to you Jaime.¡±


    Damian tapped on another video with one hand and poured some almond milk into his cereal with the other. ¡°Crazy¡± he said to the dingy kitchen. He ate his cereal as his classmates digested the news.


    ¡°Lmao wtf is going onnn¡±


    ¡°Newest yearbook category - most likely to MOON¡±


    ¡°What''s the exchange rate between TikTok views and Cap??¡±


    Damian finished his cereal and got ready for school. He tossed his things into his bag, ran his fingers through his hair, was unimpressed at the result, and left the apartment. He locked the door since he was the last person to leave; his parents had both left hours ago. As he went down the flights of stairs he wasn¡¯t exactly excited - he found it harder and harder to get excited about things - but he was curious to see what would happen.


    He trudged through the heat on his way to the train. As he descended the whirrs and groans of a too-old air conditioner fighting what might be its last, hopeless battle filled his ears. He turned on his personal air conditioner, the myopic societal response to the constant heat waves. The waves of cool air felt flaccid, felt like they fell short of his face, instead forming an idea of cold six inches in front of him, all the while the tiny little engine in the unit ejected hot air the opposite direction into the station. The personal air conditioner, as a condition of its use, necessitated its own existence. Induced product market fit. What a business model.


    Such thoughts sloughed off his reflective veneer as Damian¡¯s face began to stretch and fluoresce. He became a bubble, adrift at the mercy of the wind. The rest of the world dropped away in soapy irrelevance.


    A swampy bellow gently guided the bubble onto the train.


    Harsh gusts of wind battered the bubble from all directions. It almost popped but was able to ride an air current higher still, far above the cyclone.


    It floated past a battlefield; the cold blasts from above fought the hot blasts from below to a standstill, an uncomfortable, humid equilibrium.


    A furtive band of wind spirits danced around the train, weaving between the wheels, riding the momentum in the front, hanging onto the back. One waved to the bubble inside, its precious cargo. The bubble tried to wave back.


    At one stop a playful fae breeze drifted in and lazily enveloped the bubble as if to ask him ¡°Why? Why float here, among all this¡± it said disdainfully, ¡°when we could have so much fun far, far away from here?¡±


    The bubble¡¯s surface shimmered bluish-purplish-reddish gold. The glimmering coalesced into a soapy caricature of Damian. With some effort Damian was able to communicate to the breezy pixie.


    ¡°What¡­is¡­your name?¡±


    ¡°You can call me Truahnsi. I believe we¡¯ve met once or twice before, no? Come, let''s play again Damian!¡± It flew around Damian. ¡°Paxian Plaza is full of adventure today!¡±


    Damian didn¡¯t budge.


    ¡°Aww Damian you bore,¡± the pixie fake mocked, ¡°what could you possibly have planned that¡¯s more fun than hanging out with me? Just move your right leg, whereupon sits your right foot, to take the right step forward and do something fun with what little time you have left. Seize the day! Carpe Diem! Take control!¡±


    The pixie wrapped itself around his right foot and tugged so hard it almost fell backwards, like an old cartoon character. To his surprise his foot began to move. It landed, back in the subway car, practically another universe now from the pale blue expanse the rest of Damian was in.


    ¡°I can¡¯t!¡± Damian blurted out.


    ¡°Hmph. Well, I¡¯m sorry for you.¡± the pixie pouted, then left dejectedly.


    And eventually a strong, stern wind, borne of habit, flavored with fear and loathing bore the bubble out of the train and up the stairs, through the doors, and into a desk.


    POP!


    Damien came to in his seat.


    He thought about the playful breeze as his teacher droned on.


    ¡°...and finally, about the IHOs, there¡¯s going to be an assembly in the auditorium tomorrow morning. We¡¯re going to have some people come and present the pros and cons to you all so you can make a more informed decision.¡±


    Damian¡¯s boyfriend Erik reached over and grabbed Damian¡¯s hand.


    ¡°You ok? You look a little out of it.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, I¡¯m fine. Just zoned out for a bit there.¡±


    Erik frowned. ¡°You¡¯re not *just* zoning out man. You¡¯re dissociating. Call it what it is. And you¡¯ve been doing that more and more recently. You sure you¡¯re ok?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, I think so.¡±


    The bubble floated in place until the assembly.


    Damian reconstituted in his seat in the auditorium. Erik sat to his right, with a look of concern cut with irritation carved into his face, folded into his presence. The principal was at the mic.


    ¡°First of all we¡¯d like to give a warm Paulson High welcome to our two guest speakers today who were gracious enough to come share some information with you all about the IHO process. We have a mister Joseph Andrews, all the way from New York, here to talk about how you can use the IHOs to advance your academic career. We also have local celebrity Paula Oberdeen, all the way from Main Street here to tell you about some potential things to look out for and consider before IHOing. Mr. Andrews, the floors all yours.¡±


    Joseph walked up to the mic and shook the principal¡¯s hand. He was slick and spick and span, his appearance unimpeachable. Hair slicked back, nice suit and tie, well groomed stubble, but still he exuded pushy salesman energy. Damian thought it was in his smile. Too many teeth. Like a snake trying to sell you the antidote to its bite. ¡°Thank you Principal Jefferies. Paulson High how¡¯re we doing?¡± he yelled. He got back a sleepy acknowledgment of the question. ¡°C¡¯mon, we can do better than that! HOW! ARE! WE! DOING!¡±


    Damian groaned. A few cheers went up in the crowd, just to speed things along.


    ¡°That¡¯s what I like to HEAR! Today I want to talk to you kids about the benefits of IHOing. As many of you know college is EX-PEN-SIVE. Even applying to college is EX-PEN-SIVE. You need to pay for the privilege of taking your exams, the privilege of sending your scores to the school you¡¯re applying to, the privilege of submitting an application so THEY can bother to take five minutes out of their day to do their job and look it, just to reject it because you haven¡¯t cured cancer at fifteen. That¡¯s where IHOing can come in.¡±


    A lone ¡°WOOOO¡± cut through the crowd. Joseph turned on a smile and a slideshow and flipped through it, landing on a page full of dollar signs.


    ¡°You don¡¯t have to go it alone. There¡¯s plenty of people out there who would love to help out, to lend you some money. All you need to do is ask. They know that college is, say it with me now, EX-PEN-SIVE.¡±


    He got some angry assents from the crowd.


    ¡°And then when you¡¯re older and are making some good money because of the job they helped you get you can pay them back, with interest of course. It¡¯s a win-win.¡±


    Paula scoffed. Joseph beamed a flashy smile. Damian reached for Erik¡¯s hand. His aura and his hand receded.


    ¡°The beautiful Mrs. Oberdeen over here would disagree with me. She would call this exploitative. To that I say is it any worse than the current system? IHOs level the playing field. They turn things into a meritocracy again. The real affirmative action in this country has always been along class lines." He flipped to a slide of the monopoly man.


    "The rich can afford to work unpaid internships for experience on their resumes. The rich have the best tutors, the best extracurriculars, the best schools. The rich get legacy admissions. Daddy went to Harvard? So can you, no questions asked. At least now you all have a fighting chance. If you¡¯re smart then the investors are gonna be breaking down your door trying to give you money. And I say, take it.¡±


    There was some applause among the crowd. ¡°Thank you Mr. Andrews¡± Principal Jefferies said, shaking his hand. ¡°Now, Mrs. Oberdeen, the floor is yours.¡± She walked up to the podium with a nervous bravado. She dressed much plainer than Joseph; a worn-out beanie and an old coat atop faded jeans. Frizzy locks peeked out from behind her ears.


    ¡°Thanks, I¡¯ll be quick. If I¡¯ve learned one thing in my life it''s to follow the money. For example, just who the heck is this Joseph guy? Someone flies in from New York in a suit worth more than your parents make in a month just to talk to a buncha nobodies like us? The day after high school students are allowed to IHO? I took a peek at his calendar. He¡¯s speaking to three more schools, TODAY. What, was he grown in a petri dish til it was time to let him loose on the world? Nuh-uh, something seems fishy. This guy was bought and paid for long ago. He AIN¡¯T doing this out of the good of his heart. Now think about who paid him and why. It¡¯s the Whitewaters of the world. And they¡¯re definitely not doing it to help find the next Einsten. Those billionaires and their armies of number crunchers and algorithms calculated that having a bunch of high schoolers IHO would make them a FORTUNE.¡± She paused to take her first breath.


    The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    ¡°He talks about evening the playing field against the rich but who do you think is buying up your shares if you IHO? The rich win either way. Follow the money. The solution to this whole mess isn¡¯t some, what would you even call it, neo-serfdom? You have to get at the root of it, college prices, income inequality, wage stagnation.¡±


    ¡°All big and valid problems, sure," Joseph interrupted. "But how do you propose these youngsters get at the ''root'' of them Mrs. Oberdeen?¡± Joseph interrupted.


    ¡°I-I don¡¯t know but I know the answer AIN¡¯T what you¡¯re sellin¡¯."


    "At least I''m offering a solution."


    She ignored him, while he sat into a satisfied slouch. "Look kids, you¡¯ve had every major decision of your life decided by your parents or guardians so far. The people who only want the best for you. And yet I bet each and every one of you can¡¯t WAIT til you¡¯re free to be on your own, make your own decisions, live your own lives. But you won¡¯t be able to do that if you take the deal Joseph is offering. You¡¯ll have your decisions made not by someone who, ultimately, even if it doesn¡¯t seem like it at the time, cares about you but by a corporation thousands of miles away who cares about how much money you can make them. Look, it doesn¡¯t matter how you do it; get a summer job, apply for every internship under the sun, or take out a loan, but don¡¯t sell off a part of yourself. That¡¯s a decision you CAN¡¯T easily take back.¡±


    Light clapping percolated from the audience.


    ¡°Thank you Mrs. Oberdeen for your time.¡± the principal said.


    The bubble drifted gently until lunch.


    ¡°That was some bullshit.¡± Damian heard Erik saying to the rest of the table. ¡°Work a summer job? That might¡¯ve paid her tuition 50 years ago. Must''ve been nice.¡±


    Other students murmured their assent between bites.


    ¡°I don¡¯t think I agree with you E.¡± Damian heard himself saying, to his surprise.


    ¡°Oh hey Damian, nice of you to join us.¡± Erik responded.


    ¡°Ha ha.¡±


    ¡°Thank you, I¡¯m very funny. What don¡¯t you agree with?¡±


    ¡°General concept? I don¡¯t know, I think there¡¯s something intangibly sad about giving up a part of yourself. Something that¡¯s hard to measure in dollars or APRs or whatever.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, sure. But here in tangibility I need tangible dollars to pay for my tangible education.¡±


    ¡°I guess. It¡¯s scary thinking about giving up control. If you don¡¯t even have control of yourself what do you have?¡±


    ¡°Is it really worse than having to go to school or work a job?¡±


    ¡°I think so. Instead of one person, your boss or your teacher or whoever, having control over you its everyone, your shareholders or whatever. You¡¯re basically a puppet -- right foot, left foot, right foot, left foot¡± he pantomimed, moving his right and left arms up and down ¡°to thousands of strings. It sounds awful.¡±


    ¡°What, are you talking from experience?¡±


    ¡°No, just trying to put myself in someone else¡¯s shoes I guess.¡±


    ¡°I think I agree with both of you.¡± their friend Sam cut in. ¡°Like, I¡¯ll try to figure out other ways to pay for college but if worst comes to worst then I guess I¡¯ll have to do it.¡±


    ¡°Y¡¯all¡¯re wild. While you¡¯re busy working your three summer jobs or applying for scholarships or whatever I¡¯ll be living large,¡± Erik laughed. ¡°Might even turn a profit from the whole thing. I¡¯m smart, the hedge funds are gonna be breaking down the door to get to me.¡±


    ¡°I really don¡¯t think you should.¡± Damian said.


    ¡°I don¡¯t think you know what¡¯s best for me.¡± Erik replied.


    Damian¡¯s periphery began kaleidoscoping again.


    ¡°Oh no, there he goes again.¡± Damian heard Erik say. He sounded muffled, as if he was in a different room.


    ¡°No damnit!¡± Damian thought. His reality became a rapidly shrinking pinhole against a backdrop of a pale sky blue nothing. He tried to kick towards the pinhole, to throw his hand inside so as to keep it open as if it was the elevator in his building but like the elevator in his building it closed on his hand and disappeared.


    ¡°Dude, Erik didn¡¯t mean that,¡± Sam said to Damian.


    Damian grunted.


    ¡°Yes he did, that asshole.¡± Damian thought.


    ¡°Yes I did.¡± Erik responded. ¡°Don¡¯t bother though, when he gets like this it¡¯s like he doesn¡¯t even existttttt.¡± His voice trailed off.


    Damian felt his body going through the motions; chewing, swallowing, spitting monosyllabic responses.


    In his head Damian was surrounded by, well, nothing.


    Pale blue as far as the eye could see.


    PALE BLUE AS FAR AS THE EYE COULD SEE. PALE BLUE AS FAR AS THE EYE COULD SEE. PALE BLUE AS FAR AS THE EYE COULD SEE. PALE BLUE AS FAR AS THE EYE COULD SEE. PALE BLUE AS FAR AS THE EYE COULD SEE. PALE BLUE AS FAR AS THE EYE COULD SEE. PALE BLUE AS FAR AS THE EYE COULD SEE. PALE BLUE AS FAR AS THE EYE COULD SEE. PALE BLUE AS FAR AS THE EYE COULD SEE. PALE BLUE AS FAR AS THE EYE COULD SEE. PALE BLUE AS FAR AS THE EYE COULD SEE. PALE BLUE AS FAR AS THE EYE COULD SEE. PALE BLUE AS FAR AS THE EYE COULD SEE. PALE BLUE AS FAR AS THE EYE COULD SEE. PALE BLUE AS FAR AS THE EYE COULD SEE. PALE BLUE AS FAR AS THE EYE COULD SEE. PALE BLUE AS FAR AS THE EYE COULD SEE. PALE BLUE AS FAR AS THE EYE COULD SEE. PALE BLUE AS FAR AS THE EYE COULD SEE. PALE BLUE AS FAR AS THE EYE COULD SEE. PALE BLUE AS FAR AS THE EYE COULD SEE. PALE BLUE AS FAR AS THE EYE COULD SEE. PALE BLUE AS FAR AS THE EYE COULD SEE. PALE BLUE AS FAR AS THE EYE COULD SEE. PALE BLUE AS FAR AS THE EYE COULD SEE. PALE BLUE AS FAR AS THE EYE COULD SEE. PALE BLUE AS FAR AS THE EYE COULD SEE. PALE BLUE AS FAR AS THE EYE COULD SEE. PALE BLUE AS FAR AS THE EYE COULD SEE. PALE BLUE AS FAR AS THE EYE COULD SEE. PALE BLUE AS FAR AS THE EYE COULD SEE. PALE BLUE AS FAR AS THE EYE COULD SEE. PALE BLUE AS FAR AS THE EYE COULD SEE. PALE BLUE AS FAR AS THE EYE COULD SEE. PALE BLUE AS FAR AS THE EYE COULD SEE. PALE BLUE AS FAR AS THE EYE COULD SEE. PALE BLUE AS FAR AS THE EYE COULD SEE. PALE BLUE AS FAR AS THE EYE COULD SEE. PALE BLUE AS FAR AS THE EYE COULD SEE. PALE BLUE AS FAR AS THE EYE COULD SEE. PALE BLUE AS FAR AS THE EYE COULD SEE. PALE BLUE AS FAR AS THE EYE COUL


    Damian drifted along; eventually the data feed from his nerves, his eyes, his ears, his mouth, stopped coming in; his body was running on autopilot.


    He was drifting nowhere fast until he found a strong breeze, an undercurrent of thought, that picked him up and flighted him somewhere only he knows.


    His father and Damian, laughing, blowing bubbles on their building''s rooftop in the hot August air.


    Overhearing his parents arguing about money.


    Sneaking up to the roof of his building and peering over the edge.


    Placing the cherry on top of the sundae and handing it to the customer.


    ¡°Was that the last problem for today?¡± Damian asked.


    ¡°It was¡± Erik responded.


    ¡°Cool, guess we¡¯re done.¡±


    ¡°Thought we¡¯d never finish.¡±


    ¡°So, uh, you have any plans?¡±


    ¡°Not really, why?¡±


    ¡°Would you wanna watch a movie or something?¡±


    ¡°What, are you asking me out or something?¡±


    ¡°Actually, yes. Is that ok?¡±


    ¡°Oh, uh, hmm. I¡¯m actually straight. But I¡¯m flattered.¡±


    ¡°Oh shit this is so awkward.¡±


    ¡°Yeah I guess this is really awkward for you.¡± Erik said before pulling Damian in for his first kiss.


    He tried to escape the stream of consciousness but found that it had control of him. It carried him, for how long he didn¡¯t know, to another updraft, a first draft of things he wanted to say but couldn¡¯t quite put into words.


    ¡°Hey Joseph, I think you¡¯re a natural salesman, and probably a nice enough guy who doesn¡¯t want to be pitching, what did she call it, ''neo-serfdom'', to a buncha impressionable kids. But grow a spine. You can¡¯t justify causing so much harm to so many so young just because you need a job.¡±


    ¡°Nah, not aggressive enough.¡±


    ¡°Hey Mrs. Oberdeen, I can¡¯t speak for the rest of my classmates but I think I really get what you¡¯re saying. I can see the frenzy and the fear in your eyes. We¡¯re used to not being in control, more so than most, and I just wanna say I appreciate you shaking your fist at the storm, futile as it may feel.¡±


    ¡°No that sounds stupid.¡±


    ¡°Hey Erik, I don¡¯t know where we went wrong. You always reminded me of a rose, thorns and all, but lately it¡¯s been all thorns; the petals have all fallen off, and I think they settled on ¡®He loves me not.¡¯ I¡¯m sorry I¡¯ve been dissociating so much lately but I wish you¡¯d try to understand. It¡¯s scary, it¡¯s lonely, it¡¯s surprisingly blue, and lately it feels like there¡¯s less and less for me to return to when I get out of one of these states.¡±


    ¡°Sounds like the preamble to a breakup. But I think I still love him.¡±


    Suddenly Damian found himself in front of Truahnsi.


    ¡°Oh!,¡± Truahnsi said surprisedly, then, feigning an air of indifference and a motion of filing fingernails, ¡°look who came crawling back.¡±


    ¡°Well I wouldn¡¯t say crawling. Moreso hurled out of a bunch of narrative devices moonlighting as gusts of wind.¡±


    ¡°Sounds fun! Well, the offer still stands. Lunch should be ending soon. You can go back to class or you can leave through the side exit and carpe a diem or two.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, I think I¡¯d like that.¡±


    Truahnsi¡¯s face lit up. ¡°Really?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, let¡¯s have a little fun.¡±


    ¡°Oh wow, you have no idea how excited I am. I have so many plans for things we can do! We can go bowling! Do people still go bowling? Maybe VR bowling? Or play one of those World War 1 games! That could be fun! I think there¡¯s a growhouse market in the plaza today! We could get some fresh fruit! When¡¯s the last time we had that? Aghhh I¡¯m so excited!¡±


    Slowly the blue gave way to the various blacks and whites and grays that made up Paulson High¡¯s lunchroom. Damian saw Erik¡¯s mop of ringlets throwing out their trash. Damian chased after him. Erik saw him coming; a look of surprise flashed over his face.


    ¡°Hey E. Uh, sorry about zoning out there before. Thanks for throwing out our trash!¡± Damian leaned in to give him a peck on the cheek.


    ¡°You didn¡¯t zone out. You dissociated. Again.¡± Erik said, leaning away.


    ¡°Yeah, I guess I should call it what it is. Um, but anyway, I was wondering if you wanna cut class and go to Paxian Plaza with me?¡±


    ¡°What, seriously?¡±


    ¡°Yeah! Let¡¯s be a little spontaneous.¡±


    ¡°No!¡± Erik threw back at him, a little too loudly. ¡°Sorry, that came out stronger than I meant it to. Come here.¡± He led Damian to a bench.


    ¡°Look Damian. I don¡¯t know where we went wrong.¡±


    ¡°Wait what-¡±


    ¡°-I think we just don''t see eye to eye anymore-¡±


    Vision pinholing.


    ¡°-I don¡¯t want to cut school, I don¡¯t want to always take the path of least resistance, I want to get good grades, IHO, and get out of this dumpppp-,¡± his voice trailed off.


    Pale blue, a little paler than usual.


    ¡°-I know you¡¯re going through some stuff right now and I¡¯ll be here for you if you need someone to talk to. You¡¯ll always mean a lot to me but I can¡¯t be with someone who doesn¡¯t want to help themselves-¡±


    ¡°No no no no no no no no no no,¡± Damian whisperthought.


    A faint rumbling in the distance.


    ¡°Oh come on. Have you been ''zoning out'' this whole time? Did you hear a word I said?¡± The words echoed all around Damian.


    The pale blue began to collapse in on itself, stretching and tearing and ripping holes from nothing into nothing until it only barely extended past Damian, leaving just emptiness behind. All around him the newfound void began to populate with valves, pipes, screws. Massive gears, the size of a city block materialized out of nothing and linked together with other even more massive gears turning shafts that stretched on into forever.


    A small pinhole opened up in Damian¡¯s little patch of blue. Damian lunged towards it, could see Erik sitting there frustrated.


    Various mechanisms, through some arcane banality, created a sound wave that bounced around until it sounded like... Damian.


    ¡°No, no I¡¯m really okay. I was just thinking.¡± Damian heard his mouth say.


    ¡°No I''m not!¡± Damian thought.


    ¡°Oh. You sound a little different. You sure you¡¯re okay?¡±


    ¡°I think I might be. Um, I think you might¡¯ve knocked some sense into me. Look, I¡¯m not gonna ask you to not break up with me or anything but can we still be friends? I¡¯m might need someone to guide me through the IHO process after all.¡± A giant shutter clicked his eye closed in a mechanical facsimile of a wink.


    ¡°What? No!¡± Damian thought. He ran out of his pale blue enclosure. A gust of boiling hot steam from an unseen exhaust pipe knocked him back onto the pale blue. He writhed around in agony.


    Erik wore his incredulity on his face. ¡°What? Where did this 360 come from?¡±


    ¡°I just think that what I was doing before wasn¡¯t working. I probably knew that deep down but I needed someone to just sit me down and tell me that. And thank you for that. Now I just want to try something new.¡±


    Erik looked at him quizzically. ¡°You promise?¡±


    ¡°Yeah.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re not going to cut class, you¡¯re going to pay attention and study, you¡¯re going to go to college even if you need to IHO?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s the plan.¡±


    Inside his mind Damian tried to leap from the pale blue to a nearby valve. A piston shot out and flung him back inside the pale blue.


    ¡°Well I can see myself dating someone that impressive. IF you do it.¡±


    ¡°Hold me to it.¡±


    Erik grabbed Damian¡¯s hand. They walked together to class.


    In the pale blue Damian curled up into a ball, nursing his wounds.


    ¡°That¡¯s not how I expected that to go at all,¡± Erik said.


    Damian called for Truahnsi. The whirring of machinery responded.


    Around him the machinations ran constantly. They tore themselves down, built new, different, differently flawed, endlessly enigmatic machines to keep things running.


    Damian paced around the pale blue. He couldn¡¯t escape; some hitherto hidden gadget would always push him back.


    He eventually sat down in front of the pinhole. He watched, through someone else¡¯s eyes, as Damian IHOd, as he got accepted to his dream school, as he graduated high school and walked across the stage to get his diploma, as his parents and Erik cheered.


    Eventually the rattles, shakes, fizzes, whirrs, and all the other noises slowly fell away.


    Tears streamed down a fluorescent face. Light refracted through his soapy visage; his face seemed to oscillate between smiling and frowning.

 Help Yourself

    Private Callisto said a quick prayer. He shot his head up over the trenches, just for a second. That was enough time for a German sniper to intimately acquaint the inside of Callisto¡¯s head with the inside of his helmet.


    ¡°Shit!,¡± I yelped involuntarily. Another private lobbed a dirty look and a grenade. I crawled over to Callisto and closed his eyes for him. They lolled back open.


    ¡°On me!,¡± our sergeant bellowed. Everyone in our platoon ran over, crouching, to his position.


    ¡°I¡¯ve got good news for you boys, for once. Reinforcements from the North arrived last night. They cut off the Kraut supply lines. Those bastards are starving to death in those rat tunnels they clawed out over there." He took off his cap in fake mourning before belly laughing. It was out of place, on his face, in this camp, during this war. "We have all the time in the world now. They¡¯re going to have to try to cross the no man¡¯s land soon. Just keep your eyes open, like good ol¡¯ Callisto over there, and make sure they don¡¯t take us by surprise. Dismissed!¡±


    Like errant blades of grass whittling a path through concrete, a tentative optimism sprung through cracks in cynicism, a release of long-held breath. A possible light at the end of the tunnel, or trench. We¡¯ve been here for months now. I don¡¯t think even a third of the original crew is still around, been leaving us one by one. Of course we¡¯ve been doing the same to the other guys. I wonder if the Earth has drank her fill yet? I wonder if someone on their side tries to close the eyes of all the dead boys around him.


    I walked through the trenches. Past the munitions, make a right at the hospital, you¡¯ll hear it before you see it, and then keep going past the kitchen. It had rained recently and the ground squelched under my feet, soaking through the soles of my standard issue boots. It seems almost comically irrelevant when juxtaposed to the puddles of blood pooling in Callisto''s boots but my sense is subordinate to my senses. I climbed the stairs to the watchtower, trying to angle my ankles to avoid the puddles in my socks. Here I could see the battlefield, albeit through a slit the size of my flask.


    It was dark. If you didn''t force yourself to think about something, anything, then your mind would use that time drawing monsters in every bush. And so I thought. There was a lot to think about.


    The light at the end of the tunnel took the form of a bright, beautiful sunset. For once we could almost appreciate the oranges and reds and purples that spilled over the tops of the trenches. Nights were always tense but today we could rest a little easier knowing they were more scared of us than we were of them.


    Were those...floaters?


    Oh shit.


    With the sun in our eyes no one saw the Germans crossing no man¡¯s land until they were already more than halfway across. Maybe they were more scared of us than we were of them, but that just made them desperate.


    I rang the alarms. Men stumbled out of tents with bloodshot eyes. Our gunners manned their posts and filled the air with bullets, smoke, screams. The sun meant they couldn''t do much better than just shoot straight ahead but that was enough. Line after line, the Germans were cut down savagely. And yet line after line they kept coming. Stepping over each other just to be cut down and used as a step in turn. Seeds falling, never to grow. War cries to war wails. and the Germans retreated. Starving to death was more dignified than this. We took potshots at their backs. I saw them on the backs of my eyelids. And halos.


    One of our lads took off after them. Then a few more did, and a few more after that until half the platoon was chasing after them. I joined in. Now wasn''t the time to be alone.


    The lads and I were yelling and laughing and cheering and releasing months of pent-up terror and humiliation. We ran towards God only knows what, but it had to be better than what we were leaving behind. We ran towards home, towards seeing our beautiful girlies and wives again, towards pints at the tavern and long hikes in the country. The grind was over. The machine of war had done its job and we were the leftover fuel in the tank that didn¡¯t get burned up, shot, stabbed, or gassed.


    I stopped running. I saw a German, no older than 20 crawling towards his trenches. His bloodstain-blue eyes met mine. He raised a hand towards me.


    God help me, I gave him my canteen. ¡°Shh¡± I raised my finger to my mouth.


    I continued running.


    Later that night we were in the trenches celebrating. The Germans had a ton of loot we brought back with us. We were dining on sausages and beer. The prisoners of war were being processed. I heard some of them scream every now and then over an accordion someone found.


    ¡°Oi, you hear that?¡± our sergeant said, motioning for the music to stop.


    We all perked up and listened. There was a groan from over the trenches.


    ¡°You there, Private Ollander, check it out!¡±


    *Shit.*


    I got up from the firepit. I walked over to the trench wall, still hunchbacked out of habit, and said a prayer. I ducked my head up.


    I found myself eye to blue-red eye with the German from before. ¡°What are you doing,¡± I mouthed silently, stupidly.


    A grin, cut with pain glanced over his face. In his right hand was a grenade. Struggling, slowly he raised his left hand towards it.


    Very slowly. And yet I couldn¡¯t have stopped him if I tried. And I did try. I tried to do anything. Grab his hand, shoot him, cry for help. But I couldn¡¯t do anything. The sergeant and a few others noticed my freezing up and came a bit closer.


    The German pulled the pin and with a final heave, rolled himself into the trench. From the last sparks an spasms of his dying brain a smile flowed.


    GAME OVER


    ¡°Goddammit, what the hell was that?,¡± I yelled at the New Game screen, tearing off the VR headset.


    ¡°All¡¯s fair in love and war,¡± Pete said, pulling off his VR headset. ¡°And seeing how you looked into my eyes, I think there was a little love in that war.¡±


    ¡°That was you?¡±


    ¡°Yeah. I played dead. I couldn¡¯t believe it when you gave me the water. Such a softie."


    ¡°Yeah, yeah, don¡¯t be too proud of yourself. You basically cheated.¡±


    ¡°All¡¯s fair. When''re you gonna learn?¡±


    ¡°Whatever man, let¡¯s get going.¡±


    "Hold on a sec. C''mere." He put his headset on me. "See that score? 17,082? What''d you get."


    "Ok, ok," I said, taking the headset off.


    "Less than that huh? There''s a lesson there."


    "Yeah, don''t play so many video games."


    "They can be useful teaching devices."


    I waited for Pete to pack up his things. So many things. I liked traveling light but Pete would pack his whole apartment in his bags if he could. So annoying.


    We left the gaudy arcade and stepped into the glass and steel monotony of the hotel. I speed-walked towards the escalators; Pete rolled his suitcase over toes trying to keep up with me. I heard the clack-clack-clack as it passed over each tile get fainter and fainter as I left him behind.


    The conference room doors towered before me. I put my hands on each door.


    ¡°You¡¯re the smartest, strongest, best looking motherfucker in this room,¡± I said to myself.


    ¡°You¡¯re the smartest, strongest, best looking motherfucker in this room.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re the smartest, strongest, best look-¡±


    ¡°Didn¡¯t realize this was a marathon,¡± Pete panted at me, finally catching up.


    ¡°Dammit Pete, you broke my train of thought.¡±


    ¡°Sorry boss, you only get in 99 repetitions instead of 100?¡±


    ¡°Maybe if you tried it you¡¯d be the one giving the speech.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m the smartest, strongest, best looking motherfucker in this room.¡±


    ¡°Nevermind, it sounds stupid when you do it. After all, you wouldn¡¯t be the best looking motherfucker in any room I¡¯m in.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s why you¡¯re the one who brought up the cute blonde from the hotel bar last night and I¡¯m the one who jerked myself off to sleep right? Oh wait, that¡¯s not how it went down, is it?¡±


    The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.


    ¡°Don¡¯t be too proud of yourself.¡±


    ¡°All¡¯s fair.¡±


    I rolled my eyes.


    ¡°Hey c¡¯mon big guy, don¡¯t get mad at me, you look so much better when you smile. That¡¯s what they want to see. Perfect guy with the perfect life.¡±


    ¡°Ugh, you¡¯re right. It ain¡¯t easy being perfect.¡± I flashed a smile. ¡°Let¡¯s go help these folks.¡±


    I got in one more repetition mentally, hoping Pete couldn¡¯t read minds.


    ¡°Let¡¯s do this.¡± I pushed open the doors. A field of heads, ripe for reaping, turned towards me.


    Confident swagger, on.


    Practiced smile, on. Showing just enough teeth to be friendly, not too much to be threatening.


    Suit, on, and impeccable.


    I walked past the rows and rows of heads to the mic. Pete walked in a minute after I did and slid into a seat, bumping his suitcase on every knee in the way. So annoying.


    Quick jog up the stairs.


    Two taps into the mic to make sure it¡¯s on. Precise motions. Precision is key.


    ¡°Good morning St. Louis, HOW ARE WE DOING?¡± I yelled. I know how annoying that is. I know they know how annoying it is. But it wakes up sleepy crowds. Some of these people were already dozing off. Probably work two jobs. Or more.


    ¡°C¡¯mon, I know we can do better than that!¡± To be honest, I wasn¡¯t paying attention. I couldn¡¯t tell you if it we could or couldn''t do better than that. Doesn¡¯t matter anyway. This call and response is expected. It¡¯s like a stamp of authenticity for these things.


    ¡°If you give me an hour of your time I promise I will help you buy your way out of your IHO.¡±


    Bingo. Their attention was undivided.


    ¡°No waaaaay,¡± Pete cut in loudly.


    I widened my smile about 20%. ¡°I know some of you are wondering ''who is this guy and why should I trust him? I work three jobs, can barely make ends meet, and he¡¯s asking me to give up some of my all-too-little time and money to listen to him talk.'' Well I¡¯ll tell you why.¡± Nip any concerns in the bud.


    ¡°My name is Joseph Andrews. My IHO ID is 4966587236-X, you can look me up and make sure everything I say is true. A few years ago I was a lot like you guys. At my wit''s end. Prices going up, bills stacking up, waking up from a dream about ending up face down in a pool somewhere. Only thing not going up was my bank account. But I got out of it and I¡¯m here to tell you that you can too.¡± I went back to that place, rolled myself around in that stink, bringing back just enough to line my words with an intuitive grout that everyone in this room could relate to. But I couldn¡¯t linger, lest I be lost.


    ¡°And I¡¯m sure you¡¯re wondering how I turned it all around. And I¡¯ll tell you. But let me tell you, I wish I had someone tell me what to do back then. It would¡¯ve saved me a lot of time. And I¡¯m here to save you all years off your life.¡± You could cut the sexual tension between them and my words with a knife.


    "Those guys, the Whitewaters and Paxians and all the rest, aren''t idiots. No, no, call them what you will but they''re not stupid. They''ve got armies of nerds studying everything from macroeconomics to sentiment analysis. They know things are tough out there. And they know that affects their bottom lines." Tinge with bile.


    "So occasionally they try to move the needle in their favor. And in this case its in your favor too. When things are a bit too economically disadvantageous they''ll step in as something of an employer of last resort, acting a little kind of like a pressure release valve, taking some steam out of the system. They''ll spin up jobs programs, but not quite like any job you might be familiar with. Jobs that actually dig you out of the hole. That''s how I got out. And that''s what I''m here to talk to you about today." The tension was cut.


    "BOOOO!," Pete yelled. So many boos came out of the crowd you''d think I was Mario.


    I let them get it all out. Smirk, left eyebrow up. "Come on now, at least hear me out. You came here for some out of the box thinking. How much more out of the box can you get?" Pause. Murmers, but no backlash. No one left either. Hungry crowd.


    "So let¡¯s pick up where we left off. I was broke, desperate, hungry. I¡¯ve been in sales my whole life, not the best field to be in when no one has enough money to buy. So what does a guy like me do in that situation?


    I IHO''d, much like I bet most of you have. The day after I IHO¡¯d I had more money than I¡¯d ever seen in my life. But like I bet most of you are all too aware, easy come easy go. The money was gone faster than I ever thought I could spend it." I let them wallow in it with me for a beat. Then I threw them a life raft.


    "That''s when Paxian threw me a life raft. That¡¯s right, THE Paxian. The Paxian that so graciously allowed me to sell a part of myself, and I bet let a lot of you do the same. What I didn¡¯t know was how closely they follow some of their investments. They knew I was hurting. They knew I was hungry." Not as hungry as some of the people in this crowd. judging by their sallow cheeks.


    "This was back when Congress was debating letting kids IHO. Well, Paxian knew they were going to win. Their lobbyists and lawyers had been greasing the wheels for years. Their recruiter said something that it was like a chess match where you actually owned the other side¡¯s pieces. They wanted to really hit the ground running once the bill passed, couldn¡¯t risk one of the smaller IHO shops capturing that market. They cut deals with schools, ran commercials, had a whole social media wing. That streamer Biggzy was working with them, he got a cut of each IHO through his affiliate link. He¡¯s retired now." I let that stew for a moment, let them salivate.


    "Another one of their ¡®task forces¡¯ was ¡®direct outreach.¡¯ They wanted guys like me to go talk to these kids directly. At first I was appalled. Who wouldn¡¯t be? You can roll out the red carpet to hell all you want, it doesn¡¯t change the destination.¡± Heaving the bile came easier this time.


    "The recruiter was funny. I asked him that and he puts all the papers down and leans back, arms crossed all casually." I assumed his pose. "Here''s what he said."


    "''Money, morals, time. Pick two out of three. There¡¯s no shortcut, even for those of us ''on the inside''. We all obey the laws of socio-physics. He gave me an apologetic smile, shrugged his shoulders, a ''what can you do'' chuckle." I gave the crowd an apologetic smile, shrugged my shoulders, gave a "can you believe this guy" chuckle.


    "He was so nakedly open with me that it kind of shocked me. It was the confidence of someone with with the weight of the world behind him, inflating his sails. He continued, ''You''re a smart guy. I knew you were, that''s why I reached out. I can see the normal song and dance isn''t working on you. There''s a different angle here, a utilitarian calculus. You''re in deep. Real deep. Cautionary tale level of deep. I''m sure you know what happens to those who get delisted. No need to ruin our lunch getting into that mess.''" Lunch was salmon. Weren''t many of them left back then. Must''ve cost a ton. Even more now.


    "I still wasn''t convinced so here''s how he continued; ''Here''s how I see it Joe. There''s a pretty large negative expected value if you don''t accept. Let''s call it negative one thousand, I don''t know, dollars, bananas, happiness points. But if you sign up enough kids, you can wipe that out. And at the cost of what? These are smart kids, at least the first signups will be. Smarter than you anyhow. They''ll probably use the money for med school or something actually productive. They''re not going to end up one thousand in the hole. Let''s say, oh, negative twenty on average. Some of them might even end up in the green. After all, that''s why we do it, to help people. It''s a little like selling lottery tickets.''


    That''s how these people think. Utilitarian calculus. Equations of struggle. Now, fifty kids times negative twenty ouchie units or whatever is minus one thousand. What happens if I sign up fifty one kids? Am I introducing more suffering into the world than I''m taking out? Of course I asked him that.


    ''Yes and no. Try this one on for size then, Einstein. Would you give someone a papercut to save a life? Sure hope so. Would you give two people a papercut? Three? At what point do you choose to let the other guy die? Way more than the amount of kids you''ll sign up, I can assure you. And, if you get to that fifty first kid, if you''re all settled up with Paxian, well then, that¡¯s when you¡¯ll start making the big bucks.''" That caught their attention. ¡°¡®We''re not in the charity business, something closer to the vice business, vice-adjacent to be charitable. It''s a warzone out there, and all''s fair in love and war, so let¡¯s start cutting,¡¯ he finished, sliding me a sheet of paper. And so I say to you, let¡¯s start cutting.¡± I dropped a stack of term sheets, waivers, and NDAs on the table in front of me and sat down.


    Like errant blades of grass whittling a path through concrete, a tentative cynicism sprung through cracks in optimism, an intake of long-held breath.


    Some brave soul walked up. A few dirty looks shot their way. Her shaky walk, breath, and smile told me she was terrified. Of being the center of attention? Or of making a mistake? But her shoulders were pushed back in a motion so unpracticed on her it felt mechanical, as if driven by a system of ropes and pulleys, and her hands were locked together, arms bent at all right angles. This was a woman who was surrounded by her anxieties; behind her, hunger, in front of her, deprivation.


    ¡°What¡¯s your name?¡±


    ¡°Maddy.¡±


    ¡°Do you have any questions for me, Maddy?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, a few about terms and stuff, but like... um... I don''t know how to phrase this, but like, is this something good people do?"


    "Good people are like unicorns Maddy. I''ve never seen one, have you? The way I see it, trace anyone''s actions far back enough and you''ll find some poor sap being taken advantage of, for your benefit. Some mountaintop hermit''s hands would probably run dirty if we really hosed him down. So no, this hypothetical good person probably wouldn''t do this, because they''re not here in the trenches with us. But this is something regular people do. Practical people. People like me. And you. Because we need to. If you wanna win you have to look your shadow in the eye and then befriend it."


    "Yeah. It''s like selling lotto tickets right?"


    "Exactly."


    "Expensive lotto tickets though."


    "But lotto tickets nonetheless."


    "Or maybe more like indulgences?"


    "Indulgences?"


    "Y''know, like the Catholic Church used to do. Selling tickets to heaven basically. Tickets to hope."


    "I like that," I jotted down, "tickets to hope. Damned if you don''t, maybe not so damned if you do."


    "Do I get royalties if you use that?," she joked.


    "You sign people up with those rhetorical flourishes of yours and you''ll get a lot more than royalties." I gave her a warm smile.


    She paused, then looked over her shoulder. Someone else had gotten up and was approaching the desk. She moved up. A line slowly formed behind her.


    "You''ll get all the details about the amount of Cap you''ll need to sign up and everything else sent to your Paxian account. You''re won''t regret this." I handed her the packet and turned towards the next one. "You''ll get all the details about the amount of Cap you''ll need to sign up and everything else on your Paxian account. You''re won''t regret this."


    Eventually they all signed up or left. Pete rolled his suitcase up.


    "It''s like watching Picasso at work. Unorthodox but effective. Why don''t you just use the script they gave ya? Hey hun, heard you''re having money troubles, yadda yadda and et cetera."


    "It''s a stupid script. Doesn''t acknowledge the elephant in the room. You have to filter out the pious, then I''m left with the go-getters."


    "Hungry crowd."


    "Very."


    "Well, I don''t appreciate how you characterize me. I like to think I was a little more eloquent, not as nerdy. Utilitarian calculus, what the hell is that?."


    "Rhetorical flourish."


    "Whatever, as long as it works. My little Picasso. Pica-Joe! I knew I hit it out of the park when I saw your profile. You keep those signups coming, I''ll keep the checks coming."


    "Aye aye boss."


    "I should get a royalty the way you use my pitch in yours. Or a lot more than royalties, that''s what you said right? I''ll see you tonight?," he winked.


    "In your dreams maybe."


    "She was kind of cute. Maybe I can catch up to her."


    "Not with that suitcase."


    "Just gotta run over a few toes. But hey, serious face on for a second; you can spin our conversation however you want to, paint yourself as some helpless gal I took for a spin and left on the side of the highway or something Do whatever it takes, say whatever it takes to get people signing, but I gotta disabuse you of the notion that you''re some kind of victim, just in case you start actually believing it. I remember it differently, and you do too."


    "Now," he smiled, "lets hit the trenches."


    I saw a German, no older than 20 crawling towards his trenches. His bloodstain-blue eyes met mine. He raised a hand towards me. I gave him water. He drank greedily and I watched. I shot him between the eyes when he looked up to thank me.