The Unconventional Bochur: March 2011

"Yes yes, it'll be nineteen fifty and you can pick it up tomorrow at seven." said the young man as he took two bulky coats (there was a bag of cookies in one of the pockets, woohoo!) and a pair of pants to be dry cleaned. It was a brilliant affair the whole thing was. all he did was take the attire, drop it out front in a blue bag, and it would be back the next day cripsy clean. The young man stopped for a moment pondering the business, the simplicity of it, and how it cost nothing at all to manage.

Of course, dear reader, you are aware of how the most trivial and arbitrary of moments can send one into deep raptures of memory and such moments occur often to the young man of our adventures.

The simplicity it was that tickled the young man's brain, and how naturally dependent on it his clientele were. He couldn't take credit for it. It was not he that started the business. He bought it from another, and even then it was only when offered. However, it did remind him of events from his childhood, as many things did, when he indeed did start something himself and really did have everyone under his belt.

Seventh grade it was. His teacher, Mr Ruffalo, had come up with a creative learning idea; everyday, for maybe an hour or so, they would participate in a fake society. There would be jobs, currency, a bank, a court, the whole works. Of course the regular class rules would be the laws. Speaking out and such would result in penalties and fines toward their precious currency. Super! thought the kids of the class and they quickly started filling the 'state' positions of their liking. One boy ran the bank, another the court, a girl managed the radio station giving out important class information and announcements and others meagerly gathered their wealth in a slew of other devices.

Those who failed or otherwise had no interest (as was the case for our young man, well, then a young boy, who always loathed the idea of working the regular nine-to-five) to take the default positions stocked up their inventory (candy really) and opened up stores (registered by the 'court') to sell their wares. This seemed like a good avenue to our young boy, but there was no way he could keep up with the competition at hand. The Zinkerman twins were the candy selling gurus right off the bat and the young boy knew full well that no matter how much he brought, they'd always have more, what he brought, they'd always have better, and for what price, they could always go cheaper. Besides, who wants to spend real money just to make fake money?

The young boy went home that day pondering and scheming. At the end of the whole exercise Mr Ruffalo promised to auction some worthwhile things even some cash for their otherwise worthless currency. He had to strike it rich! He thought and thought in the car ride home. suddenly, it hit him. An idea! Just a week before his mother had explained the concept and he never thought he'd need the knowledge before twenty.

"Mother?" The young boy turned to the driver's seat, "You know how we get fines in class if we talk out or get in trouble 'n' stuff?"
"yes"
"Well, what if I made like an insurance business for it?" his mother turned, her face lighting up at the idea. The young boy continued enthused by his mother's reaction, "you know like you said, everyone pays me a, what did you call it?"
"A premium"
"Right. Everyone pays me a premium and I'd pay all their fines for them. You think?" her lips pursed in that happy way they do, whenever she comes up with a trick or an idea or the beginning of some unknown wonderful thing, "That's genius! I think it'll really take off." and they rode home together discussing the details. She explained the details of policies, premiums and limited coverage as the young boy soaked up every bit of information from his all-knowing mother.

As soon as they arrived home they got to work. The boy and his mother produced nifty little pamphlets with a contract inside. She helped him make three policies and design a system of limiting coverage so the more they acted up, the less he'd have to pay up each time, as well as raise the premiums. He even recorded a radio commercial using the soundtrack of one of his video games. He was set.

The next day he went to class and made a lot of noise about his new product. The other kids were intrigued. really? A free ride? Well, it wasn't a free ride. It would only cover three offenses a week and when you renew the second week, coverage would be less and premiums higher. They all signed up. Because, for them, the first week was a free ride.

He had to pay out. Not having capitol he had to borrow from the bank, but he assured himself (as well as Mr Ruffalo) that it would even out when they hit their limit and the policies took effect. Midway through the week though, he realized this wasn't going to happen. If he decided to refuse further coverage or raise premiums nobody cared. They simply wouldn't renew! The young boy could either lose money to cater to their every will or lose the business entirely! He learned his first lesson in that fake society; people only want instant satisfaction. They want it now and then they're done with it.

He went home sulking. He sat down at the table and thoughtlessly began going though the junk mail reading the useless adds that flooded the mail box. Suddenly, there it was in front of him. The young man knew exactly how to use his newly learned human fault for himself. For the rest of the week he gladly provided coverage and gave an introductory waver to all the policies when it came time to renew.

The second week the young boy rigidly upheld the policies, denying coverage and informing them that the next week's premiums would be a little higher with less coverage. He wasn't afraid at all. They could quit whenever they liked too. He hardly worried about it.

Came the end of the week and just about everyone wanted to cancel. "Sure," smiled the young boy, "you just have to pay the cancellation fee." That's what it was called, in the fine print of a Verizon Wireless add he was mindlessly reading, a something dollar cancellation fee. The next week he carefully added a line to his own small print; a cancellation fee, not ridiculous, but certainly more than would ever be worthwhile to pay. They looked at it, what they had signed without bothering to look. They were enraged, some even tried court! but it was binding and legal. Nobody canceled.

They quickly learned to quit acting up to get their coverage back, or mainly lower their premiums because even if they were angels they'd still have to pay it, and the young boy started racking it in. For doing nothing!

With nothing else to do and free money coming he set on convincing Mr Ruffalo that he should run a 'state lottery'. After all, it would raise funds for the 'Government'. The teacher agreed and automatically the young boy ran a lottery worth an exorbitant amount. Instant gratification again and the young boy loved it. He had numbered balls that spun and tossed in a spinning cage just like the Power Ball. Ticket after ticket was sold. Nobody ever won, but they sure kept on buying, the young man collecting a commission with each one sold.

"...Uh, do you have my change?" The young man was thrown out of his recollection and back to the present. "Well yes certainly, twenty dollars fifty." He said as he fished out the money, real money this time. He smiled. He loved society for the exact same reason he hated it.

Nobody ever did win that lottery. He wound up keeping all the money himself.

The Unconventional Bochur

Saturday, March 12, 2011

The Boy and the Business

Thursday, March 3, 2011

Temptations in the Yichud Room