Basic Economics of Flying 101

I feel like some of my greatest contributions to civil society are made on the airplane.

During boarding, the typical passenger is unpacking his things or distractedly reading through a People Magazine and doing his best to relax. I, on the other hand, am anything but relaxed. I know that something is wrong. I can sense it. And I'll be damned if I'm going to just sit back and do nothing.

I am perfectly still in my seat and my senses have kicked into high gear. Like an unseen tiger stalking his prey from the dark jungle, I am watching and waiting for my opportunity.

Suddenly I see it. A man 3 rows up is making motions to a woman seated next to me. His voice is barely audible, but he begins to mouth some words. "Do you think we can find someone to switch with us?" he says. I see fear in his eyes. He is weak-willed and confused. Perhaps he and his significant other are wearing matching outfits. I've seen enough.

I heroically jump into action, nearly tripping over myself to be the first to the rescue. "I will be the man to make that sacrifice," I say in a booming voice, rising from my seat, basking in the awe of my fellow passengers. We make the switch, exchanging pleasantries, and I accept the couple's gushing gratitude with a quick, self-deprecating wave of my hand. The Iowan in me has diverted disaster once again.

Do I ask for the same selflessness out of others? Never. Nor would I expect others to offer it up gratuitously. Not only do I feel perfectly comfortable spending two hours on my own in the big, bad airplane, but the risk of awkward rejection usually prevents me from acting.

That being said, my flight to Phoenix was a real eye opener. Let me set the scene.

I am seated about 5 rows ahead of my girlfriend. There are three people in my row. In fact, there appear to be three people in every row on the plane except one: my girlfriend's row. She is seated next to the window and another woman is seated in an aisle seat, leaving an open seat in between them.

Perfect, I think. I won't even have to ask anyone to move in order to take the open seat. As it becomes clear that no one else will be boarding, I rise and begin to make my way back to the open seat. Emily, out of courtesy, says to the woman in the aisle seat, "Do you mind if my boyfriend sits here?" The woman, who, it should be emphasized, has not been asked to sacrifice her seat, simply rolls her eyes and looks the other direction. Though this is done without my knowledge, Emily whispers it into my ear during the flight.

Part of me wishes she hadn't told me this en route. It made the rest of the flight vaguely awkward and it forced me to spend a significant amount of time thinking about the ethics behind our behavior. Does this woman have a claim? Surely she didn't purchase the seat in between her and Emily did she? Was there a husband (perhaps tired of her standoffishness) who failed to show? Possible, but unlikely. And if that was the case, why not say something?

For a moment, I try to empathize with her. She had something of value, a buffer seat in between her and a stranger. Now she does not. So in a sense, she has a right to be a little indignant. This is assuming of course that we think of the buffer seat as being "her's" to begin with. Regardless, I think her behavior is extremely short-sighted. She would do well to look at the big picture.

Though she may have lost something of value, someone else further up the plane has gained something of equal value when I got up. In fact, since I was also in a middle seat, the open seat that I left actually conferred a benefit upon two people. So already we have a net gain of 1 unit of happiness/comfort.

But of course, the equation doesn't stop there. The happiness that I will derive from being next to my girlfriend who is super awesome and makes me laugh a lot also has value. There's another unit of happiness. Emily, will also derive happiness from the transaction, but the quantity of happiness will be less than me for two reasons: 1) I am not as cool as her 2) She had a buffer seat and now does not have a buffer seat. Let's say she gets 1/2 of what I get out of the deal. In all 5 people are affected by the transaction. Here's the rough calculus:

Happiness of woman who lost buffer seat: -1
Happiness of woman who gained buffer seat: +1
Happiness of woman 2 who gained a buffer seat: +1
Nick's happiness: +1
Emily's happiness: +1/2

Net gain of happiness: 2 1/2

Invisible hand anyone? Sure my initial act was selfish, but look at all the excess happiness that one act of selfishness generated. Invisible or not, does this woman sitting next to me really not see this equation?

And in reality, my estimate of a simple 2.5 u/h gain is, if anything, conservative. For example, with all that surplus happiness floating around in the fuselage, it's pretty likely to cheer up the flight attendants. A couple extra smiles here, a couple extra thank yous there. You get the picture. The flight attendants interact with the captain (I think), which means he/she might be happier too. A happier captain means a less depressed captain, which means less chance of the captain flying off the handle and dive-bombing into a Kansas cornfield.

As is clearly illustrated above, I simply cannot overstate the amount of people that could stand to gain from this move.

Like I said, I empathize with her plight. Without the proper safety nets in place to ease her suffering (passenger subsidized pillows, on board nurse, entertainment, food, a place to sit), the invisible hand stops being just invisible and begins to disappear altogether. But in my situation, when the happiness of the entire plane is taken into account, and the safety nets are in place, switching seats is undeniably the best way to go.

I think about explaining these numbers to her but don't want the rest of the flight to be more awkward than it already is. As a concession to my own ego, I resolve to make my calculations known to her in the event that we begin plummeting to our deaths.

Though part of me is quietly hoping for a mid-flight disaster, so that I can give this woman a pre-death lecture on civility and collective happiness, we land without incident. And I think of how sad it is that she will think it was a horrible flight. She might even start lobbying her local carrier to prohibit this type of activity, ultimately affecting all flight passengers, possibly even herself, in all sorts of adverse ways in the future.

And if you just listened to her side of the story, you'd never believe that from the time that flight took off to the time it landed, that very same flight she thought was so horrible had actually experienced a huge 2.5 unit surge in happiness. And what's more? It was all due to the selfish, happiness-generating acts of one humble person.

Is there any flight I can't make happy?

Despite All I Feel I'm Still Just a Rat on a Wheel

Have you ever been dumped by a significant other and are feeling pretty blue, but not quite as blue as you expected? Often times after a break-up experience, I know I'm sad, but how sad? Do I just want to sulk for a couple hours or cry for a day or two, or am I finally ready to quit my job, sell my possessions and start redecorating my living room walls with my own feces?

This is the kind of question I was pondering as a friend of mine told me that he had been dumped. He was bummed out, but he mentioned that he wasn't nearly as depressed as the first time it had happened with the same girl.

His story reminded me of the experiment with the rat where the rat is on a spinning wheel. Every time the wheel makes a rotation, the rat is shocked. Initially the rat tries desperately to avoid the shock, but over time he becomes resigned to the fact that the pain is not going away. Eventually, he just lays despondently in the same place and barely flinches when it is administered.

Though the initial shock freaked him out and probably provoked all sorts of moody, existential reflection, each subsequent shock became more and more tolerable until, eventually, he was able to lead his life (laying on a wheel) knowing that the shocks were an inevitable part of his existence.

Not being satisfied simply with knowing that my friend was feeling "less" pain than before, I wanted to know exactly how much pain he was feeling. I wondered if there was a mathematical equation that could represent this phenomenon. After dwelling on it for several seconds, I decided that there is, and it looks like this:

Where "i" is the intensity of the emotion felt,"d" is the number of days since the last break-up, and "n" is the total number of times that you have broken up with this person, the intensity of the emotion that you are feeling can be summed up thusly:

i=d/n

Using this formula someone who was going out with someone for 100 days and had only been dumped once would feel 100 units of pain and suffering. If that same person had been going out for 100 days but it was the second dumping, that person would only feel 50 units of pain and suffering. The third 33.3, etc.

If a happily married wife of 30 years was to suddenly find herself cast by the wayside (assuming there have been no prior breakups), she would be suffering from a near intolerable 10,950 units of pain and suffering (get your feces brush ready!).

Conversely, if it has only been 1 day since your last break-up, and you've had 5 previous breakups, I have very little pity for you because you're only feeling .2 units of pain and suffering.

And in truth, if this is the case, you shouldn't be suffering as much. Just one day ago a break-up took place and there were no long term consequences. In fact, the same "tragedy" has happened five times now and has failed to significantly alter the direction of you life in any way. Based on the record, you have little reason to believe that this time will be different.

Soon, we will all be describing our break-ups in these numbers. Statements like "Wow, you must really be hurting after that 750," or "Get over it 25," will be extremely common.

I can't wait. If you are unsure of how despondent to feel, feel free to use this formula, as I will do exclusively to judge all of my post break-up emotions from now on.

Spelling out numbers

I was talking to my friend Eric the other day and I think I have arrived upon a fun and safe way to make people question your sanity: requesting numbers to be spelled out. It is definitely a task that I would find slightly amusing to be asked to perform.

I ask people all the time to spell out words or names, but now I'm going to take it one step farther. A typical conversation would look something like this:

Man-- "Two hundred thousand people live in Des Moines"
Me-- "Can you spell that out for me please?"
Man-- "Oh yes, the s's are silent. It's, d-e-s."
Me-- "No, sir, you misunderstood me. I am familiar with the word Des Moines. Could you please spell out the number."
Man-- "Are you f'ing with me?"
Man-- "Please say them one digit at a time as you would say one letter when spelling out a word. For example, the number 10, as I have learned, is spelled 1-0. It's a problem I have."

Then, not having heard of the problem but not wanting to be insensitive to my bizarre impairment, the man would say "three hundred and fifty six thousand. . .3-5-6-0-0-0."

I'll let you know how that works.

Speaking of Eric, his uncle recently grilled Luarita Doan of the GSA, who seems to have numerous impairments of her own, foremost of which is her inability to honestly and legally head a government agency.

Here is the video of Rep. Bruce Braley's noble quest for transparency and competency in government.



Pretty inspiring stuff huh? You gotta love government oversight controlled by the Dems. An article over at TPM Muckracker has a little bit more on this story and it does a pretty good job of placing it in context along with the DOJ firings.