When I first met Sid he was wearing navy blue slippers, black shorts, and a fluorescent orange t-shirt with the words “Who’s your Momma?” printed in bold letters across his chest. It was a fall afternoon before the start of freshman year and I’d just reached campus after a grueling 30 hour journey from India. Those were the days when you had to go Calcutta-Delhi- Somewhere in Europe (Frankfurt/ London/ Paris)-Chicago-Indianapolis before driving 45 minutes to reach Greencastle. The odds of the bags making to their final destination were lower than the necklines on dresses worn to the Oscars - mine once reached a month later after an unscheduled stint in Africa. Sid, however, wasn’t worried about long journeys or suitcases; he had other things on his mind. He slammed his hand down on the hood of a car in the parking lot and said “Alright junior, welcome to campus. We’re going to arm-wrestle for your brother’s X-Box now”.
Over the next few years I got to know Sid a lot better. I learnt, for example, that he was lactose intolerant but loved eating malteasers (a kind of milk chocolate) on long drives. Individuals in the back seat were then subjected to a unique brand of biological warfare. I also learnt that he was nearly thrown out of a plane at 39,010 feet once after the unsuspecting souls at Aeroflot upgraded him to business class on a flight back to Calcutta – a gesture they have never repeated. After partaking of the free alcohol, Sid proceeded to play antakshari (a singing game) at the top of his voice and tried to rope in some horrified Russian businessmen as well. It nearly created an international incident.
His other idiosyncrasies included post shower walks to his room with the towel draped over his shoulder instead of around his waist, frequently considering a career in modeling, and introducing freshman girls to “thunder and lightening” – his biceps. But you shouldn’t let these anecdotes color your impression of Sid. He’s a teddy bear (just don’t squeeze him too hard). An economics and computer science double major, he also had his moments of brilliance. In a flash of clarity that only the finest whiskey can induce, he once sat up and proclaimed
“You, me, most of us in this room….we’ll be good but we’ll never be great. We’ll likely do fine but we’ll never make it really big”
“Er…why Sid?” asked someone.
“Because of the mindset we were brought up with - the mindset often found among families with no history of entrepreneurship. Because of our perspective on risk. Because of middle-class mentality” he replied.
Let me explain.
Almost all of us in that room grew up in middle/ upper middle class families in Kolkata (Calcutta). Our parents were nurturing, supportive, and gave us every luxury we needed. We were very lucky; some might even call us spoilt. From a young age, however, we were steered away from thinking about potentially risky callings. Sport was encouraged but more as a pastime than a primary focus. Theatre, debate, and music were meant to be hobbies, not our livelihood. Pursuing a career in an alternative field (anything outside of academia, engineering, law, medicine, economics/ management, and journalism) was risky and there was no pot of gold or phonebook to fall back on if we failed. The ideology was simple – get educated and get a job. That is what our parents had done. This wasn’t a strictly enforced rule; it was more of a strongly suggested guideline.
A part of this outlook is perhaps local to where we grew up. Kolkata is an incredible city to go to school or retire in but doesn’t offer much to the young professional. Labor strikes, political turbulence, and the silting up of the city’s once profitable port have resulted in industry moving elsewhere. Students are almost forced to leave for opportunities in other parts of the country or abroad. The ones that have returned or stayed on often have family businesses to join. Even within this industry, where businesses are passed on from father to son, it’s not clear that many new firms are coming up or growing aggressively. Kolkata hasn’t really experienced the boom that other parts of India have gone through over the last few years.
The economic situation in the city has widespread ramifications. Studies show that parents who haven’t seen or heard of successful entrepreneurs are less likely to be supportive of their progeny entering the field. Given that parental support and consent are typically vital for major decisions children take, the new venture space effectively gets crossed off the potential career list. The same holds true for acting and music. Until recently, these fields in India didn’t pay all that well and only a handful of artists had made it big. Parents from middle/ upper middle class families who wanted their children to maintain the lifestyle they were brought up with would try to steer them away from vocations that involved uncertainty.
There is also a cultural angle to this mindset – perhaps we Bengalis (the people from the state of Bengal) tend to shun capitalism. It is difficult for me to speak for others so I’ll give you an example from my own family. Upon returning home after completing his studies at Oxford, my grandfather was torn between two job offers that represented vastly different careers. One was a managerial position with the personal products line of a consumer goods company. The other was a job with the federal government. To help him think through the process, my great grandfather offered some input. He asked his son if he really wanted to sell soap for a living.
What I hope this anecdote reflects is the underlying attitude towards business or risk. In this case it is the mindset that celebrates the government employee but looks askance upon the entrepreneur or profit oriented individual. In other cases it is the mindset that encourages employment with a large firm but discourages starting a new venture. Kolkata has good engineering, technology, management, and law colleges either within the city or a short distance away. It should have the knowledge base and human capital required for start-ups. Though it would take decades to establish the property rights, venture capital sources, and agglomeration benefits of Silicon Valley or Route 128 in the US, the basic knowledge and potential to deliver should exist. We should have been able to create a microcosm of the habitat that exists on the west coast. Other than the political backing espousing this end, however, a critical element is missing. The ability to take a risk is not something that can be taught in the classroom and has not really been nurtured at home; at least not among the people I grew up with. The answer to all problems was not 42; it was more education.
This mindset isn’t necessarily local to Kolkata - I’m willing to wager that it exists in other parts of the country as well. It can be found among families where highly educated individuals have worked hard to make their way up the career ladder but haven’t really been involved with entrepreneurial ventures themselves. They contend that stories of successful entrepreneurs have a strong survivor bias – the only tales told are about the ones who have succeeded. Not all high school drop outs end up being Bill Gates and no-one really knows what happens to the people who fail. Corporate or government jobs, on the other hand, provide a far more stable livelihood. As my mother once told me “it is the exception that proves the rule”. And she’s right. The statement is a near tautology. The job market in India has not historically been an arena that encourages optimism. The sheer numbers in the country create a stifling degree of competition and individuals who have gone through the process realize that there often aren’t second chances. To be an entrepreneur would be akin to being a trapeze artist without a safety net.
Sometimes the mindset can also be driven by the fear of loss of social face in the event of failure. A survey of the most popular superpowers ranked invisibility highly. While this has voyeuristic implications, it also hints at the fact that anonymity is a powerful and much sought after quality. India is a gregarious country where significant weight is attached to social image. Middle/ upper middle class families often interact in circles where discussing what one’s kids are doing can result in pride or embarrassment. This can create vicarious associations with the successes and failures of one’s children. It generates an environment that is unwelcoming of career related uncertainty. Things might have been different had everyone led isolated lives. Social pressures might have had less of an impact on individual choices.
The attitude towards risk often permeates into other aspects of our lives as well. After the recent financial crisis, the Wall Street Journal published an article on how Indian men living in the US were shunned in the arranged marriage market because the state of the US economy was considered too precarious. Individuals working for start-ups, financial services firms, or as consultants bore the brunt of this coup de grâce. It is difficult to deny the logic behind these decisions – every mother wants the best for her laddo (daughter) and if that means a husband with a lower but more secure salary then so be it. I’m not comparing the choice of marriage partner with choice of job, though in some cases there isn’t much of a difference, I just think it showcases the general averseness to risk. An arranged marriage has a lot of uncertainty associated with it – the individual on the other end might turn out to have terrible digestion problems or snore up a thunderstorm at night. It was interesting to see that career associated risk, above all the other variables, was the straw that broke the camel’s back.
Let me conclude by saying something I should have started out with. I do not mean to be judgmental of the mindset referred to above – this was intended to be observational, not critical. I realize that there are very good reasons for why people think the way they do and that this outlook arises out of the love and concern for one’s children. It is engendered by brute fact and does well to put food on the table; starry eyed messiahs often end up hungry and cold at night. But it is also necessary to consider what this mindset precludes. What are people missing out on by buying into or propagating this outlook? Aswath Damodaran, a professor at NYU’s Stern School of Business, offers an interesting definition of risk. Using the Chinese symbol for the word, he discusses how risk means both hazard and opportunity. It refers to both the upside and the downside. You typically cannot have one without the other. The only thing all lottery winners have in common is making the initial investment of buying a ticket.
So what would you do if your son or daughter came up to you and said he/she wants to give up a stable career and start a business or take up an ‘alternative’ profession? How would you react? Though I am (hopefully) close to a decade away from having kids, I realize that Sid’s middle-class mentality is likely where my reply would likely come from. Perhaps this is because I’m emulating my own childhood and what people told me when I was young. Perhaps I have been programmed too well and can’t overwrite the code. Either way, I realize that there are questions that I need to work out for myself. Why? You might ask. Why try to be great and risk the comforts you get from good? What’s wrong with just being good? The answer is nothing. There’s nothing wrong with being good. There’s nothing wrong with leading a comfortable life. But I’ll leave you with a quote from the movie Troy –
Messenger: The Thesselonian you're fighting... he's the biggest man I've ever seen. I wouldn't want to fight him.
Achilles: That’s why no-one will remember your name.
Ps. Sid today is married, which is clearly testament to the fact that miracles do happen. He lives and works in Singapore and is pursuing a new venture on the side. Give him a hug when you meet him and wish him luck.
Wednesday, 7 April 2010
Sunday, 21 February 2010
Turning 21 Faster
New York City. The Mecca for the young professional. It’s tough to walk down Madison Avenue on a June afternoon without looking like you’re auditioning for Linda Blair’s role in a remake of The Exorcist. From the expanses of sheep’s meadow in Central Park to the rusty deck of the Frying Pan in Chelsea, women in the city set the bar pretty high when it comes to aesthetics. Many a man has hummed Bruce Springsteen’s “Girls in their summer clothes” as his eyes dance like strobe lights behind the cover of his shades. The experience of a Manhattan summer is augmented only by casual indulgence in a product of the alkane oxidation process - alcohol. Liquid courage, the social crutch, truth juice - call it whatever you will - alcohol typically results in good nights, bad mornings, and occasionally unwanted babies. There’s nothing wrong with conceiving a baby on a drunken night in New York though. You could call it Brooklyn - like Becks and Victoria.
But babies aren’t the point. In fact, we’ll pretend like they never happen. Our story starts in May 2007. I was single, a rising senior, and in Manhattan for the summer. A paid internship was helping ease my bank account off life support and I had an apartment downtown in an NYU dorm on Spring Street (which has since been converted to an apartment complex) with the South Street Seaport a few blocks away. The stage was set for great times; buenas noches if you will. Unfortunately, a minor detail threatened the dream. This was America and I wasn’t 21.
For those of you who’ve grown up outside of the US, 21 might sound very similar to 20. That’s because it is. You’re two years removed from being a teenager but still as uncertain about the future and worried about how you look. In the US, however, this is how old you need to be (at least) to legally buy or consume alcohol. There are a host of issues around issuing arbitrary ages as proxies for maturity - if you’ve ever witnessed a typical 21st birthday celebration in the US you’ll know that maturity is flushed down the loo at some point along with dinner and self respect - but those are arguments that we won’t get into here. Complications arise when you can’t enter establishments such as bars and clubs that serve alcohol even if you abstain. This has restrictive social implications because if prevents you from hanging out with your friends in these venues or causes you to become an imposition on a group if you’re the only one underage. But why, you might ask, is it necessary to open this can of worms? Why go to clubs at all?
There answer is surprisingly simple. Pretty girls go to clubs. You could always ask a girl out to candy-floss or a movie but saying “do you want to check out this cool new club in meatpacking tonight?” somehow has more sex appeal. If the music is loud enough you don’t even have to come up with intelligent things to say. You can nod frequently, laugh occasionally, and mouth the words “Sorry, I can barely hear you” when it looks like you’re supposed to add to the conversation. There is the problem of having to shake a leg every now and then but a crowded dance floor and frequent trips to the bar will keep you from doing the robot all night.
Clubs in New York are unique places in their own right. Getting in to them can often feel like you’ve been invited into an elite society. A famous bouncer called Wass at Marquee, a club on 27th and 10th, once remarked in an HBS case study that he tried to mix the people in the club like a good salad. “A salad with too many mushrooms isn’t very tasty, a salad with too much lettuce is just lettuce; it’s a nice big mix of all the elements that make a delicious salad. So we’re talking about some of the gay crowd, some of the Upper East Side crowd, some of the trendy crowd, a very heavy sprinkling of the model crowd, just so that there’s not too much of one thing”. Unfortunately, from the perspective of the individual waiting in line, you can become just that – a vegetable hoping to make it to the salad bowl. The willingness to pay egregious sums of money helps but doesn’t necessarily guarantee an entry (unless you’re getting bottle service). There are issues around demographics (Europeans definitely have it easier than South Asians), gender ratios, and how much the bouncer’s ego has been stroked that night that need to be navigated. Bouncers are also often pickier when it comes to women. A group of girls are more likely to get in to a club than a pair of guys but the more cleavage and leg they show, the better their chances get. Not that guys have it easy – they need to look well dressed, confident, and ready to buy many rounds of drinks. There have been instances when individuals, both boys and girls, have been singled out and told to wait while the rest of the crew is allowed through. Standing in those lines can do terrible things to your self esteem.
There are ways around the queue. You need to know the promoters. These are people who are affiliated with different clubs and get paid to bring people in. Most clubs in New York have a short life span. They’re difficult to get in to when they open and the hottest places to be seen at. When other clubs open around the block, the exclusivity begins to fade. That’s when the promoters become important. If you’re a part of the promoter’s posse you get to skip the queue and get in just by paying the entrance fee (though sometimes that is waived as well). Alternatively, there are some exclusive social networking sites where you can rsvp and add yourself to the guest list for events that get listed. Finally, if all else fails, you could take it upon yourself to try and carry out a rational conversation with the grizzly bear at the door. It’s usually an uphill task but you need to explain to him why you and your group are the hottest thing since the color pink. Those conversations can go like this:
“Excuse me, Sir” (sotto voce)
No response. Being soft and polite in New York will make people think you’re a tourist.
“Right”. Pause. Clear throat. “Excuse me” (forte). Grizzly turns to look at you.
“Hi, there are six of us (gesturing at the ladies in the group who are conveniently lined up in front) and we’d like to get through the line”.
“So would the fifty people behind you”. Growl.
“Yes, you’re right, but I live two blocks away (gesture at a random building on the horizon) and come here all the time. In fact, we’re celebrating the birthday of one of the guys in the group and I brought everyone here because it’s always a good time”.
Pause.
“How many are you again?”
“Six – 3 guys, 3 girls (gesture at a random collection of people, preferably girls standing in line)”
“It’s going to be a long wait unless you’re willing to pay $25 a head”
“What! Including the girls?”
“Yea, $25 a head or you wait your turn”
“Look, abc around the corner is going to let us in for a lot less”
“Ok. Then go to abc. You know what I said”
“C’mon man! I come here a lot. You’ve got to help me out a bit”
By now the manager has likely picked up on the conversation. He’s the more suave looking guy standing at the door. It’s his job to make sure the place does well financially and he’s often marginally nicer too.
Manager walks over.
“Yes?”
Switch to slightly more pressing tone. Sounding busy or important helps. Either that or you can get down on your knees and plead.
“Hi! Look I live two blocks away and come here a lot. I get a lot of people here too. I brought all these people with me tonight because I really like the place. There are three guys and three girls in my group. Everyone’s single and you know the guys are going to buy the girls drinks and a couple of rounds of shots. You’re looking to make between $500 to $600 on us. He’s asking us to pay $25 a head but there’s no way they’re going to agree. The girls definitely don’t want to pay cover. Abc down the street is going to let us in for a lot cheaper but we’d like to stay here. You’ve got to help us out a bit”
“How many are you again?” Steps to the side. The sum of money just mentioned has caught his attention.
“Six –3 girls, 3 guys. They’re standing right there” Lean in a bit to make it look like you don’t want other in the queue to hear.
“Ok. It’s $25 for the guys and the girls get in for free”
“Look that’s great but it’s still way more expensive than abc. We’re willing to pay $20 and you know you’re going to make a lot of money of us through the drinks anyway. $500-$600 at least. I come here a lot and we’re celebrating..”
“Ok. Ok.” Manager usually cuts you off in the middle of the rant. He’s either fed up of listening to the story or buys it.
“Alright. $20 a head for the guys. Let them through”
“Thanks a lot man! Really owe you one!” pat the side of the arm/ shake hand.
This, or any form of conversation/ negotiation only works if someone at the door is willing to listen. It’s important to state that the bouncer is typically 200 pounds heavier than the average human being and has a short temper. He doesn’t much like stringing words into sentences or dealing with numbers. He’d rather grunt and look menacing. Knowing when to stop trying to negotiate and get back in line can keep your features from being rearranged. Negotiations are also unlikely to work at a place where people in line are ready to pay a lot more. Once inside, the goal, of course, is not to buy the multiple rounds of drinks that were pitched to the manager. You have hopefully pre-gamed at home or a cheap bar nearby in order to minimize costs that night. Unfortunately, girls in the group or ones you meet at the club can jeopardize that decision. Ambition and libido put single guys on the highway to high-expenses.
It’s interesting to study the dynamics of social interaction in these milieus. Girls who are looking to play the game will seem interested, smile coyly, laugh occasionally, and ask guys to dance with them before turning around and asking if they want a drink. The typical testosterone driven male is likely optimistic about his prospects and almost always buys the girl a drink to keep her happy. Another method used is where the girl feigns interest initially until the guy’s hooked. She then lets the conversation lapse to the point where the guy gets awkward and offers to buy a drink to buy some time. A third scenario is where things start off so awkwardly that offering to buy a drink is the only way to salvage the situation. Either way, a young man and his money are soon parted.
Getting back to the story though, I was 20 in New York and watching the summer pass me by. The thought of getting a fake had occurred to me but the good ones were expensive and the cheap ones didn’t look like they would pass muster. All hope was lost until I stumbled on something marvelous – the Indian driving license. The old West Bengal (the state I’m from) driving licenses looked like someone tore a scrap of paper out of a notebook and wrote on it with a crayon. The new ones are fancy. Designed to be smart cards, they have a microchip with the driver’s biodata, picture, and signature printed on hard plastic. They look very authentic and can be used as a form of state issued ID nearly everywhere. The punch line, however, lies in the date of birth. Like other commonwealth nations (I imagine), India lists dates in the format day/month/year. If you were born on December 1st of 1989 it would read 1/12/1989. The US, however, uses the format month/day/year. Consequently, the same date would be interpreted to mean the 12th of January, 1989. Essentially, you could gain up to 312 days based on this format difference using a valid ID. I was born on Nov 2nd – 02/11 on my Indian license. That was interpreted to mean 11th February, which meant that I was 21 by the summer. There are some mistakes that you just don’t want to correct. Buenas noches.
Disclaimer: There are, clearly, certain cases where this won’t work. If you are born after the 12th of any month then it’s going to be difficult to pull this trick off. It also doesn’t work if you go to college in a small town where all the bars have a list of students and their birthdates behind the counter (unfortunate incident). Also, if this format goes against you (12/01/xxxx interpreted as Dec 1st as opposed to 12th Jan) then it’s best to use a US state ID or drivers license that works in your favor. That aside, this should work for individuals from any country that follows the “day/month/year” format and is lucky enough to be born within the applicable timeframe. There are 54 sovereign Commonwealth nations and many countries in Europe, I believe, also use the same format. It makes sense.
But babies aren’t the point. In fact, we’ll pretend like they never happen. Our story starts in May 2007. I was single, a rising senior, and in Manhattan for the summer. A paid internship was helping ease my bank account off life support and I had an apartment downtown in an NYU dorm on Spring Street (which has since been converted to an apartment complex) with the South Street Seaport a few blocks away. The stage was set for great times; buenas noches if you will. Unfortunately, a minor detail threatened the dream. This was America and I wasn’t 21.
For those of you who’ve grown up outside of the US, 21 might sound very similar to 20. That’s because it is. You’re two years removed from being a teenager but still as uncertain about the future and worried about how you look. In the US, however, this is how old you need to be (at least) to legally buy or consume alcohol. There are a host of issues around issuing arbitrary ages as proxies for maturity - if you’ve ever witnessed a typical 21st birthday celebration in the US you’ll know that maturity is flushed down the loo at some point along with dinner and self respect - but those are arguments that we won’t get into here. Complications arise when you can’t enter establishments such as bars and clubs that serve alcohol even if you abstain. This has restrictive social implications because if prevents you from hanging out with your friends in these venues or causes you to become an imposition on a group if you’re the only one underage. But why, you might ask, is it necessary to open this can of worms? Why go to clubs at all?
There answer is surprisingly simple. Pretty girls go to clubs. You could always ask a girl out to candy-floss or a movie but saying “do you want to check out this cool new club in meatpacking tonight?” somehow has more sex appeal. If the music is loud enough you don’t even have to come up with intelligent things to say. You can nod frequently, laugh occasionally, and mouth the words “Sorry, I can barely hear you” when it looks like you’re supposed to add to the conversation. There is the problem of having to shake a leg every now and then but a crowded dance floor and frequent trips to the bar will keep you from doing the robot all night.
Clubs in New York are unique places in their own right. Getting in to them can often feel like you’ve been invited into an elite society. A famous bouncer called Wass at Marquee, a club on 27th and 10th, once remarked in an HBS case study that he tried to mix the people in the club like a good salad. “A salad with too many mushrooms isn’t very tasty, a salad with too much lettuce is just lettuce; it’s a nice big mix of all the elements that make a delicious salad. So we’re talking about some of the gay crowd, some of the Upper East Side crowd, some of the trendy crowd, a very heavy sprinkling of the model crowd, just so that there’s not too much of one thing”. Unfortunately, from the perspective of the individual waiting in line, you can become just that – a vegetable hoping to make it to the salad bowl. The willingness to pay egregious sums of money helps but doesn’t necessarily guarantee an entry (unless you’re getting bottle service). There are issues around demographics (Europeans definitely have it easier than South Asians), gender ratios, and how much the bouncer’s ego has been stroked that night that need to be navigated. Bouncers are also often pickier when it comes to women. A group of girls are more likely to get in to a club than a pair of guys but the more cleavage and leg they show, the better their chances get. Not that guys have it easy – they need to look well dressed, confident, and ready to buy many rounds of drinks. There have been instances when individuals, both boys and girls, have been singled out and told to wait while the rest of the crew is allowed through. Standing in those lines can do terrible things to your self esteem.
There are ways around the queue. You need to know the promoters. These are people who are affiliated with different clubs and get paid to bring people in. Most clubs in New York have a short life span. They’re difficult to get in to when they open and the hottest places to be seen at. When other clubs open around the block, the exclusivity begins to fade. That’s when the promoters become important. If you’re a part of the promoter’s posse you get to skip the queue and get in just by paying the entrance fee (though sometimes that is waived as well). Alternatively, there are some exclusive social networking sites where you can rsvp and add yourself to the guest list for events that get listed. Finally, if all else fails, you could take it upon yourself to try and carry out a rational conversation with the grizzly bear at the door. It’s usually an uphill task but you need to explain to him why you and your group are the hottest thing since the color pink. Those conversations can go like this:
“Excuse me, Sir” (sotto voce)
No response. Being soft and polite in New York will make people think you’re a tourist.
“Right”. Pause. Clear throat. “Excuse me” (forte). Grizzly turns to look at you.
“Hi, there are six of us (gesturing at the ladies in the group who are conveniently lined up in front) and we’d like to get through the line”.
“So would the fifty people behind you”. Growl.
“Yes, you’re right, but I live two blocks away (gesture at a random building on the horizon) and come here all the time. In fact, we’re celebrating the birthday of one of the guys in the group and I brought everyone here because it’s always a good time”.
Pause.
“How many are you again?”
“Six – 3 guys, 3 girls (gesture at a random collection of people, preferably girls standing in line)”
“It’s going to be a long wait unless you’re willing to pay $25 a head”
“What! Including the girls?”
“Yea, $25 a head or you wait your turn”
“Look, abc around the corner is going to let us in for a lot less”
“Ok. Then go to abc. You know what I said”
“C’mon man! I come here a lot. You’ve got to help me out a bit”
By now the manager has likely picked up on the conversation. He’s the more suave looking guy standing at the door. It’s his job to make sure the place does well financially and he’s often marginally nicer too.
Manager walks over.
“Yes?”
Switch to slightly more pressing tone. Sounding busy or important helps. Either that or you can get down on your knees and plead.
“Hi! Look I live two blocks away and come here a lot. I get a lot of people here too. I brought all these people with me tonight because I really like the place. There are three guys and three girls in my group. Everyone’s single and you know the guys are going to buy the girls drinks and a couple of rounds of shots. You’re looking to make between $500 to $600 on us. He’s asking us to pay $25 a head but there’s no way they’re going to agree. The girls definitely don’t want to pay cover. Abc down the street is going to let us in for a lot cheaper but we’d like to stay here. You’ve got to help us out a bit”
“How many are you again?” Steps to the side. The sum of money just mentioned has caught his attention.
“Six –3 girls, 3 guys. They’re standing right there” Lean in a bit to make it look like you don’t want other in the queue to hear.
“Ok. It’s $25 for the guys and the girls get in for free”
“Look that’s great but it’s still way more expensive than abc. We’re willing to pay $20 and you know you’re going to make a lot of money of us through the drinks anyway. $500-$600 at least. I come here a lot and we’re celebrating..”
“Ok. Ok.” Manager usually cuts you off in the middle of the rant. He’s either fed up of listening to the story or buys it.
“Alright. $20 a head for the guys. Let them through”
“Thanks a lot man! Really owe you one!” pat the side of the arm/ shake hand.
This, or any form of conversation/ negotiation only works if someone at the door is willing to listen. It’s important to state that the bouncer is typically 200 pounds heavier than the average human being and has a short temper. He doesn’t much like stringing words into sentences or dealing with numbers. He’d rather grunt and look menacing. Knowing when to stop trying to negotiate and get back in line can keep your features from being rearranged. Negotiations are also unlikely to work at a place where people in line are ready to pay a lot more. Once inside, the goal, of course, is not to buy the multiple rounds of drinks that were pitched to the manager. You have hopefully pre-gamed at home or a cheap bar nearby in order to minimize costs that night. Unfortunately, girls in the group or ones you meet at the club can jeopardize that decision. Ambition and libido put single guys on the highway to high-expenses.
It’s interesting to study the dynamics of social interaction in these milieus. Girls who are looking to play the game will seem interested, smile coyly, laugh occasionally, and ask guys to dance with them before turning around and asking if they want a drink. The typical testosterone driven male is likely optimistic about his prospects and almost always buys the girl a drink to keep her happy. Another method used is where the girl feigns interest initially until the guy’s hooked. She then lets the conversation lapse to the point where the guy gets awkward and offers to buy a drink to buy some time. A third scenario is where things start off so awkwardly that offering to buy a drink is the only way to salvage the situation. Either way, a young man and his money are soon parted.
Getting back to the story though, I was 20 in New York and watching the summer pass me by. The thought of getting a fake had occurred to me but the good ones were expensive and the cheap ones didn’t look like they would pass muster. All hope was lost until I stumbled on something marvelous – the Indian driving license. The old West Bengal (the state I’m from) driving licenses looked like someone tore a scrap of paper out of a notebook and wrote on it with a crayon. The new ones are fancy. Designed to be smart cards, they have a microchip with the driver’s biodata, picture, and signature printed on hard plastic. They look very authentic and can be used as a form of state issued ID nearly everywhere. The punch line, however, lies in the date of birth. Like other commonwealth nations (I imagine), India lists dates in the format day/month/year. If you were born on December 1st of 1989 it would read 1/12/1989. The US, however, uses the format month/day/year. Consequently, the same date would be interpreted to mean the 12th of January, 1989. Essentially, you could gain up to 312 days based on this format difference using a valid ID. I was born on Nov 2nd – 02/11 on my Indian license. That was interpreted to mean 11th February, which meant that I was 21 by the summer. There are some mistakes that you just don’t want to correct. Buenas noches.
Disclaimer: There are, clearly, certain cases where this won’t work. If you are born after the 12th of any month then it’s going to be difficult to pull this trick off. It also doesn’t work if you go to college in a small town where all the bars have a list of students and their birthdates behind the counter (unfortunate incident). Also, if this format goes against you (12/01/xxxx interpreted as Dec 1st as opposed to 12th Jan) then it’s best to use a US state ID or drivers license that works in your favor. That aside, this should work for individuals from any country that follows the “day/month/year” format and is lucky enough to be born within the applicable timeframe. There are 54 sovereign Commonwealth nations and many countries in Europe, I believe, also use the same format. It makes sense.
Friday, 16 October 2009
Indian Matrimonial Columns
My brother did it. I realize I’ve said that before to get out of trouble. But this time it’s true. He did the unthinkable for most twenty-four year old men. He got engaged two days ago and the wedding’s been scheduled for next December. The boy’s decided to make the leap.
Now I like to think I know my brother well. As an infant, I had the pleasure of sucking on his big toe. I’m told my mother was in the shower and I was crying in my crib. My brother, a precocious three-year old at the time, decided I was hungry and needed to be fed. He climbed in, stuck his right foot in my face, and told me to get to work. I did. Experiences like that can forge strong bonds between siblings. We’ve grown to be close – so close in fact that he can read my mind. Three years ago I woke up one morning feeling nauseous. An encounter with a Polynesian girl the night before hadn’t gone exactly as planned. My brother happened to call then. “You won’t believe what happened last night” I said, my voice betraying the sinking feeling in my stomach. There was a brief pause. “You’re in a relationship now aren’t you” he replied. My brother and I are also very different people.
Strange things started happening after his plans were announced. My grandmother looked at me with her all-knowing eye and hinted that I was getting on in years too. “Another three or four years….26 or 27 is a good age”. Apparently wondrous changes are in store for my maturity level. My mother decided to let me know that she had started buying jewelry for my bride as well – whoever the unfortunate girl may be. Venues were being discussed with the thought that they might be picked again. Caterers were chosen with the belief that a dish left out for this wedding would be on the menu for the next. My creakier grand aunts and uncles let it be known that they would like to attend at least one other family gathering of this magnitude. Short of sending the invites out, everything felt like it had been decided. There seemed, at least to me, to be one small problem - there was the matter of finding a girl.
The whole thing got me thinking. There are, undoubtedly, a number of individuals who are looking to get married but haven’t found a respective other yet. Put yourself in that position. The options at that point seem limited. You could go through the all powerful family and friend network in India (my grandmother recently tried to introduce me to her friend’s granddaughter), you could sign up on websites like shaadi.com or match.com, or you could place an ad in your local newspaper. All of these have one thing in common – limited information. Granted you won’t know what it’s like to be married to someone until after you’ve taken your vows, but don’t you think choosing someone to marry is a rather momentous decision to make on a lark? Imagine finding yourself in a pickle after marrying a girl based on the sound of her laughter – and never hearing it again because she no longer felt the need to humor you. Tough.
My parents maintain that marriages where the two individuals have dated before tying the knot are not necessarily more likely to work out. The divorce rate for first marriages in the US, for example, is 41% compared to 1% in India. Clearly this is a victory for arranged marriage backers. That might be true, but what the data doesn’t reflect is happiness levels. Getting a divorce is taboo in India and marriages often work out because the woman sacrifices significantly more than the man. She might also choose to stay on in an unhappy relationship because of societal pressure or complications with supporting herself independently. This information isn’t picked up in a number that looks at just the outcome and not the quality of the relationship. The truth behind the statistic is quite complicated. But what do you do if you find yourself looking for a partner? What do you look for in a stranger to know if she’s the girl or boy you’re meant to be with? I decided to peruse through the ads in the classifieds section of the local daily to find out.
Every Sunday, The Telegraph runs a half page matrimonial section with the catch phrase “happily ever after” for those willing to take the risk. Between sixty and eighty stressed out parents place ads under “Grooms Wanted” or “Brides Wanted” columns. Interestingly enough, most of them sound like they shared a generic template. The girls are either fair, good looking, beautiful, very beautiful, or some combination of the above. Being attractive, it seems, is a prerequisite for placing an ad in the paper. The beholder though is blind or at least forgiving when it comes to men. She only demands that they be well educated and successful. The potential for a substantial income combined with degree-associated prestige seem to be the key selling points. Terrible oral hygiene? No problem, it’s great to be married to an encyclopedia. Wavy nose hair? Hey as long as he brings home the bacon. For a society that claims the West is superficial, we’re doing a pretty good job of being shallow ourselves.
But let’s get back to the ads – they’re broken out into four types and reinterpreted below:
Type 1 - The Academic: “IIM Calcutta, MBA, M.Sc. (Eco) MBA (ICFAI) fair, beautiful, MNC fluent German, French, very soft compassionate. Wanted only highly qualified boy (others excuse), family oriented, Bengali Brahmin preferred, 32-35 max. Contact: Bhatta…”
Reinterpretation: Our daughter has three degrees and speaks at least four languages. She has a resume that goes on for pages. We’d like her to get married to someone with three degrees (or more) as well. Also, the longer your resume, the better your chances. We’ll weigh it.
Type 2 - The Alliance: “Alliance invited for a Bengali, Kayastha, very beautiful, fair, slim, Doctor girl, 33/5’3”, Govt. employee from a reputed Doctor parents family of Assam. Contact: 038…”
Reinterpretation: We’re searching for someone to enter into a strictly professional baby making joint venture with our daughter. Frisky business? Not on your life. Cuddling and pillow talk? Only if it involves how to make doctors out of babies. What about having some fun together? That’s not what alliances are for. Grow up.
Type 3 – The Class Conscious: “EB, Kayastha, 29/5’1”, MA Eng. B.Ed., HS Teacher (SSC) in Bardhaman. Fair, good looking. Seeks Dr./ Engr./ Lecturer/ Teacher/ Govt. Employee groom within 31-33 Brahmin, Baidya, & EB, WB both welcome. Bandel, Chinsura, Chandannagar preferred. Box (T) M 105…”
Reinterpretation: Look, we really just need you to drop a blood sample off along with your address. If you’re remotely artsy or creative enough to think of an alternative way to make a living, then we don’t really want to talk to you. We’re looking for someone who does things we understand.
Type 4 – The International Khiladi (player): “Australia (Sydney) based good-looking Bengali WB Brahmin 27/5’ 3” IT with Masters. Seeks well-educated Bengali groom. 96744…”
Reinterpretation: I’ve had my share of fun and am ready to settle down. Fancy accents don’t interest me any more. Now I need someone to accompany me weekly to the Sunday afternoon lunch buffet at the nearest Indian restaurant.
This made me wonder what I would say if I was placing an ad in the Telegraph. “Couch potato in training seeks partner with pulse and patience. Warning, object in question often spends all morning reading comics on the throne.”
In the search for companions, people seem to be looking for data points that indicate good employees. An accomplished student is not necessarily a good friend or son; let alone husband. Degrees don’t imply intellectual curiosity - they reflect good test taking abilities and a financial sponsor. Similarly, a fair and intelligent girl might be an absolute nightmare to live with. She could be chronically bipolar or swipe credit cards for sport. A far better indicator of a good partner is whether or not that individual has managed to maintain other personal relationships. The presence of close friends at least reflects the ability to sustain relationships and perhaps even geniality. A sporty individual signals the ability to function in a group if the sport she plays is team oriented. Someone working in a field he loves will almost always have passion. An individual who volunteers and gives back to the community is likely to be considerate and empathetic.
To break away from a purely academic recruiting model, some HR departments use the “flight companion” benchmark to gauge a candidate’s fit. Basically, they ask themselves how they would react if they had to sit next to a particular candidate on a flight. Would they come away having made a new friend or would that be an experience they’d rather not repeat? If you’re working long hours on teams with other employees, smarts give way to humor and sociability after a point. And isn’t that what a marriage is after all? The process of formalizing the companion you want to set out on the journey of your life with? Someone who’ll be with you through the highs and lows – the clear skies and the turbulence. Shouldn’t you be looking for someone who can make you smile, laugh, question, think, and feel? Someone who respects you as an individual. Someone who listens sincerely and provides unequivocal support. Someone who cares. If so, how are looks, degrees, and social status any indicator of these qualities? Why are we looking at all the wrong data points?
If one was to go off only the information listed in the classifieds, here’s what a groom hunting session would look like. Pretty girl sits alone at a dimly lit bar looking forlorn because she’s not yet ready to settle down. In walks candidate A. Relatively well dressed in a half sleeve shirt and khakis, he displays the first signs of prosperity around his midriff. He staggers across to her, winks, and says “I can do long division problems in my head”. She smiles back weakly – she can too. Along comes candidate B puffing on a cancer stick. With his belly in full bloom, he waddles across to her with his flip-flops slapping against his feet. Flashing his pearly yellows at her he says “square roots of seven digit numbers… while I’m frying myself samosas.” There is clearly potential here. The girl’s eyes light up as she slides across to him. Through a cruel twist of fate, in walks candidate C. Unlike his competitors, he’s skinny, wears glasses with thick bifocal lenses, and has a dense patch of vegetation on his upper lip. Unassumingly, he walks over to the group and says “differential equations with my left hand – while I’m calculating the largest prime number with my right”. The girl is ecstatic. Wedding bells ring in the distance.
Now I like to think I know my brother well. As an infant, I had the pleasure of sucking on his big toe. I’m told my mother was in the shower and I was crying in my crib. My brother, a precocious three-year old at the time, decided I was hungry and needed to be fed. He climbed in, stuck his right foot in my face, and told me to get to work. I did. Experiences like that can forge strong bonds between siblings. We’ve grown to be close – so close in fact that he can read my mind. Three years ago I woke up one morning feeling nauseous. An encounter with a Polynesian girl the night before hadn’t gone exactly as planned. My brother happened to call then. “You won’t believe what happened last night” I said, my voice betraying the sinking feeling in my stomach. There was a brief pause. “You’re in a relationship now aren’t you” he replied. My brother and I are also very different people.
Strange things started happening after his plans were announced. My grandmother looked at me with her all-knowing eye and hinted that I was getting on in years too. “Another three or four years….26 or 27 is a good age”. Apparently wondrous changes are in store for my maturity level. My mother decided to let me know that she had started buying jewelry for my bride as well – whoever the unfortunate girl may be. Venues were being discussed with the thought that they might be picked again. Caterers were chosen with the belief that a dish left out for this wedding would be on the menu for the next. My creakier grand aunts and uncles let it be known that they would like to attend at least one other family gathering of this magnitude. Short of sending the invites out, everything felt like it had been decided. There seemed, at least to me, to be one small problem - there was the matter of finding a girl.
The whole thing got me thinking. There are, undoubtedly, a number of individuals who are looking to get married but haven’t found a respective other yet. Put yourself in that position. The options at that point seem limited. You could go through the all powerful family and friend network in India (my grandmother recently tried to introduce me to her friend’s granddaughter), you could sign up on websites like shaadi.com or match.com, or you could place an ad in your local newspaper. All of these have one thing in common – limited information. Granted you won’t know what it’s like to be married to someone until after you’ve taken your vows, but don’t you think choosing someone to marry is a rather momentous decision to make on a lark? Imagine finding yourself in a pickle after marrying a girl based on the sound of her laughter – and never hearing it again because she no longer felt the need to humor you. Tough.
My parents maintain that marriages where the two individuals have dated before tying the knot are not necessarily more likely to work out. The divorce rate for first marriages in the US, for example, is 41% compared to 1% in India. Clearly this is a victory for arranged marriage backers. That might be true, but what the data doesn’t reflect is happiness levels. Getting a divorce is taboo in India and marriages often work out because the woman sacrifices significantly more than the man. She might also choose to stay on in an unhappy relationship because of societal pressure or complications with supporting herself independently. This information isn’t picked up in a number that looks at just the outcome and not the quality of the relationship. The truth behind the statistic is quite complicated. But what do you do if you find yourself looking for a partner? What do you look for in a stranger to know if she’s the girl or boy you’re meant to be with? I decided to peruse through the ads in the classifieds section of the local daily to find out.
Every Sunday, The Telegraph runs a half page matrimonial section with the catch phrase “happily ever after” for those willing to take the risk. Between sixty and eighty stressed out parents place ads under “Grooms Wanted” or “Brides Wanted” columns. Interestingly enough, most of them sound like they shared a generic template. The girls are either fair, good looking, beautiful, very beautiful, or some combination of the above. Being attractive, it seems, is a prerequisite for placing an ad in the paper. The beholder though is blind or at least forgiving when it comes to men. She only demands that they be well educated and successful. The potential for a substantial income combined with degree-associated prestige seem to be the key selling points. Terrible oral hygiene? No problem, it’s great to be married to an encyclopedia. Wavy nose hair? Hey as long as he brings home the bacon. For a society that claims the West is superficial, we’re doing a pretty good job of being shallow ourselves.
But let’s get back to the ads – they’re broken out into four types and reinterpreted below:
Type 1 - The Academic: “IIM Calcutta, MBA, M.Sc. (Eco) MBA (ICFAI) fair, beautiful, MNC fluent German, French, very soft compassionate. Wanted only highly qualified boy (others excuse), family oriented, Bengali Brahmin preferred, 32-35 max. Contact: Bhatta…”
Reinterpretation: Our daughter has three degrees and speaks at least four languages. She has a resume that goes on for pages. We’d like her to get married to someone with three degrees (or more) as well. Also, the longer your resume, the better your chances. We’ll weigh it.
Type 2 - The Alliance: “Alliance invited for a Bengali, Kayastha, very beautiful, fair, slim, Doctor girl, 33/5’3”, Govt. employee from a reputed Doctor parents family of Assam. Contact: 038…”
Reinterpretation: We’re searching for someone to enter into a strictly professional baby making joint venture with our daughter. Frisky business? Not on your life. Cuddling and pillow talk? Only if it involves how to make doctors out of babies. What about having some fun together? That’s not what alliances are for. Grow up.
Type 3 – The Class Conscious: “EB, Kayastha, 29/5’1”, MA Eng. B.Ed., HS Teacher (SSC) in Bardhaman. Fair, good looking. Seeks Dr./ Engr./ Lecturer/ Teacher/ Govt. Employee groom within 31-33 Brahmin, Baidya, & EB, WB both welcome. Bandel, Chinsura, Chandannagar preferred. Box (T) M 105…”
Reinterpretation: Look, we really just need you to drop a blood sample off along with your address. If you’re remotely artsy or creative enough to think of an alternative way to make a living, then we don’t really want to talk to you. We’re looking for someone who does things we understand.
Type 4 – The International Khiladi (player): “Australia (Sydney) based good-looking Bengali WB Brahmin 27/5’ 3” IT with Masters. Seeks well-educated Bengali groom. 96744…”
Reinterpretation: I’ve had my share of fun and am ready to settle down. Fancy accents don’t interest me any more. Now I need someone to accompany me weekly to the Sunday afternoon lunch buffet at the nearest Indian restaurant.
This made me wonder what I would say if I was placing an ad in the Telegraph. “Couch potato in training seeks partner with pulse and patience. Warning, object in question often spends all morning reading comics on the throne.”
In the search for companions, people seem to be looking for data points that indicate good employees. An accomplished student is not necessarily a good friend or son; let alone husband. Degrees don’t imply intellectual curiosity - they reflect good test taking abilities and a financial sponsor. Similarly, a fair and intelligent girl might be an absolute nightmare to live with. She could be chronically bipolar or swipe credit cards for sport. A far better indicator of a good partner is whether or not that individual has managed to maintain other personal relationships. The presence of close friends at least reflects the ability to sustain relationships and perhaps even geniality. A sporty individual signals the ability to function in a group if the sport she plays is team oriented. Someone working in a field he loves will almost always have passion. An individual who volunteers and gives back to the community is likely to be considerate and empathetic.
To break away from a purely academic recruiting model, some HR departments use the “flight companion” benchmark to gauge a candidate’s fit. Basically, they ask themselves how they would react if they had to sit next to a particular candidate on a flight. Would they come away having made a new friend or would that be an experience they’d rather not repeat? If you’re working long hours on teams with other employees, smarts give way to humor and sociability after a point. And isn’t that what a marriage is after all? The process of formalizing the companion you want to set out on the journey of your life with? Someone who’ll be with you through the highs and lows – the clear skies and the turbulence. Shouldn’t you be looking for someone who can make you smile, laugh, question, think, and feel? Someone who respects you as an individual. Someone who listens sincerely and provides unequivocal support. Someone who cares. If so, how are looks, degrees, and social status any indicator of these qualities? Why are we looking at all the wrong data points?
If one was to go off only the information listed in the classifieds, here’s what a groom hunting session would look like. Pretty girl sits alone at a dimly lit bar looking forlorn because she’s not yet ready to settle down. In walks candidate A. Relatively well dressed in a half sleeve shirt and khakis, he displays the first signs of prosperity around his midriff. He staggers across to her, winks, and says “I can do long division problems in my head”. She smiles back weakly – she can too. Along comes candidate B puffing on a cancer stick. With his belly in full bloom, he waddles across to her with his flip-flops slapping against his feet. Flashing his pearly yellows at her he says “square roots of seven digit numbers… while I’m frying myself samosas.” There is clearly potential here. The girl’s eyes light up as she slides across to him. Through a cruel twist of fate, in walks candidate C. Unlike his competitors, he’s skinny, wears glasses with thick bifocal lenses, and has a dense patch of vegetation on his upper lip. Unassumingly, he walks over to the group and says “differential equations with my left hand – while I’m calculating the largest prime number with my right”. The girl is ecstatic. Wedding bells ring in the distance.
A free cup of coffee
Economists have long argued that there is no such thing as a free cup of coffee. The argument boils down to the opportunity cost – the concept of looking at the alternative that was forgone. For example, if someone was handing out free cups of coffee, the cost of the cup would be the lost wages from the time spent standing in line to get it. If you made $6 an hour (or 10 cents a minute) then the ten minutes that it took to stand in line meant a loss of $1. Essentially, the cup of coffee ended up costing $1. There are at least three problems with this argument:
1. A salaried individual at a firm that forbids employees from working anywhere else is not eligible for a job that pays an hourly wage.
2. There are often caps to the number of hours you are allowed to work (as international students in the U.S. or U.K. will tell you) and so an hourly wage doesn’t apply once the limit is hit.
3. Welcome to the world post September 2008 – there just aren’t any jobs out there. Hard working ’08 college grads will tell you that even jobs that pay by the hour are few and far between
So, if we rule out the opportunity cost, we come to the price of the coffee itself. Most profit-oriented organizations don’t hand out free coffee to all passing by. But what if there was a way to make some free money that covered the cost of the coffee? What if you could come away from a diner with as much money (or more) as when you entered but with some java in you as well? The article below tells you one way to do it.
In a remote corner of a tiny little town called Cloverdale in Indiana sits the much talked about Truck Stop. Much talked about by the students of a nearby university that is. And perhaps some truckers passing through town who frequent the establishment on their way. The Truck Stop is popular for a number of reasons – it’s open all night, it’s close to campus and a great place to get some work done, it’s fabulous for psychology students looking for people to study etc. etc. My brother and I, however, went there for an item on their menu. Coffee. Black. Bottomless. Served thick – like diesel. If two cups of black coffee at the Truck Stop didn’t get you through your all-nighter, you were probably a descendant of Rip Van Winkle.
A cup of coffee at the Truck Stop cost a little over a dollar when I was last in there three years ago. A dollar and thirty cents I think. They also had an arcade game machine at the back. You put in a quarter that dropped down into a pile of quarters and a flat plastic brush pushed the whole lot towards the edge. If you were lucky, a few coins would be knocked over and you’d come away having made your initial investment and more. If you got two quarters back, you made 100% return on the investment - 25 cents to recover the principal and 25 cents in profit. If you were unlucky, you got nothing. It’s not a bad game – your downside is 25 cents and your upside is in 25 cent or 100% increments. Two quarters back implies 100% profit, three 200%, four 300% and so on. That is if you’re playing with quarters.
Enter currency arbitrage. The old Indian one-rupee coin is very similar in shape, size, and weight to a US quarter. The difference, however, comes in with the exchange rate. Approximately fifty Indian rupees make a dollar. Four quarters make a dollar. Therefore, fifty rupees make four quarters or twelve rupees and fifty paise (or INR 12.5) make a quarter. As far as this game is concerned, it means that it would cost you the same whether you used twelve Indian one rupee coins or one US quarter. Now this isn’t a game purely of chance where each try is independent. Your odds of winning the game go up as you play it more. As the pile of coins gets bigger, you’re guaranteed to hit a critical mass and knock some over. The question is whether or not you knock out as many as you’ve put in. The odds change when you’re playing with Indian rupees. By my estimates, you were almost certain to knock out at least one quarter if you played the game four times (i.e. put 4 coins in). One quarter for the cost of four rupees is 212.5% profit. One quarter for a rupee is 1150% profit. This meant guaranteed returns between 212.5% and 1150% based on how many times you played. Better returns than the most exclusive hedge fund in New York. Who says you can’t have a free cup of coffee and make some money on the side?
Caveat: I’ve done this only once because I didn’t have enough rupee coins on me. For the record, the machine said “insert coin” here, not “insert US quarter here”. Also, this only works when the quarters far outnumber the rupee coins i.e. as long as you’re spending in rupees and earning in dollars. The logic also works with coins in any other currency as long as the exchange rates are favorable (the math will change of course). Finally, the institution isn’t particularly culturally sensitive and the man behind the counter probably has a shotgun. Play at your own peril.
PS. I realize that there actually is an opportunity cost associated with buying coffee with your winnings – it’s the cost of the interest you forego. Playing the game is cost-free because of the reasons listed above. Well, you don’t have to buy coffee. You could put your money in the bank and watch it grow – slowly. It’s free money.
1. A salaried individual at a firm that forbids employees from working anywhere else is not eligible for a job that pays an hourly wage.
2. There are often caps to the number of hours you are allowed to work (as international students in the U.S. or U.K. will tell you) and so an hourly wage doesn’t apply once the limit is hit.
3. Welcome to the world post September 2008 – there just aren’t any jobs out there. Hard working ’08 college grads will tell you that even jobs that pay by the hour are few and far between
So, if we rule out the opportunity cost, we come to the price of the coffee itself. Most profit-oriented organizations don’t hand out free coffee to all passing by. But what if there was a way to make some free money that covered the cost of the coffee? What if you could come away from a diner with as much money (or more) as when you entered but with some java in you as well? The article below tells you one way to do it.
In a remote corner of a tiny little town called Cloverdale in Indiana sits the much talked about Truck Stop. Much talked about by the students of a nearby university that is. And perhaps some truckers passing through town who frequent the establishment on their way. The Truck Stop is popular for a number of reasons – it’s open all night, it’s close to campus and a great place to get some work done, it’s fabulous for psychology students looking for people to study etc. etc. My brother and I, however, went there for an item on their menu. Coffee. Black. Bottomless. Served thick – like diesel. If two cups of black coffee at the Truck Stop didn’t get you through your all-nighter, you were probably a descendant of Rip Van Winkle.
A cup of coffee at the Truck Stop cost a little over a dollar when I was last in there three years ago. A dollar and thirty cents I think. They also had an arcade game machine at the back. You put in a quarter that dropped down into a pile of quarters and a flat plastic brush pushed the whole lot towards the edge. If you were lucky, a few coins would be knocked over and you’d come away having made your initial investment and more. If you got two quarters back, you made 100% return on the investment - 25 cents to recover the principal and 25 cents in profit. If you were unlucky, you got nothing. It’s not a bad game – your downside is 25 cents and your upside is in 25 cent or 100% increments. Two quarters back implies 100% profit, three 200%, four 300% and so on. That is if you’re playing with quarters.
Enter currency arbitrage. The old Indian one-rupee coin is very similar in shape, size, and weight to a US quarter. The difference, however, comes in with the exchange rate. Approximately fifty Indian rupees make a dollar. Four quarters make a dollar. Therefore, fifty rupees make four quarters or twelve rupees and fifty paise (or INR 12.5) make a quarter. As far as this game is concerned, it means that it would cost you the same whether you used twelve Indian one rupee coins or one US quarter. Now this isn’t a game purely of chance where each try is independent. Your odds of winning the game go up as you play it more. As the pile of coins gets bigger, you’re guaranteed to hit a critical mass and knock some over. The question is whether or not you knock out as many as you’ve put in. The odds change when you’re playing with Indian rupees. By my estimates, you were almost certain to knock out at least one quarter if you played the game four times (i.e. put 4 coins in). One quarter for the cost of four rupees is 212.5% profit. One quarter for a rupee is 1150% profit. This meant guaranteed returns between 212.5% and 1150% based on how many times you played. Better returns than the most exclusive hedge fund in New York. Who says you can’t have a free cup of coffee and make some money on the side?
Caveat: I’ve done this only once because I didn’t have enough rupee coins on me. For the record, the machine said “insert coin” here, not “insert US quarter here”. Also, this only works when the quarters far outnumber the rupee coins i.e. as long as you’re spending in rupees and earning in dollars. The logic also works with coins in any other currency as long as the exchange rates are favorable (the math will change of course). Finally, the institution isn’t particularly culturally sensitive and the man behind the counter probably has a shotgun. Play at your own peril.
PS. I realize that there actually is an opportunity cost associated with buying coffee with your winnings – it’s the cost of the interest you forego. Playing the game is cost-free because of the reasons listed above. Well, you don’t have to buy coffee. You could put your money in the bank and watch it grow – slowly. It’s free money.
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