Tag: Travel

Lost and Found

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To win, be kind. To be kind, break the rules.

I twice lost faith in humanity today. Once, I got it back. The rules cost my faith. People breaking them gave it back. 

Three airport snippets and a meander: 

1. The bag with no status (lost #1)

At Houston Hobby Airport, I entered my information into my airline’s bag-check kiosk. It told me to see an agent. I approached one at an empty desk. She asked if I had status. I said the machine sent me to you. She asked if I had status. I said no. She told me to go to the info desk around the corner. I told her the kiosk sent me to her. She asked again if I had status. I have the right credit card and a bunch of points, so I shrugged and said yes. She asked what I needed. I said I’d like to check a bag. She checked the bag. Then she told me I didn’t have status, so next time I’d have to go to the other desk. Her questioning about my status took longer than the bag check, and it ultimately didn’t matter. The rules may be dumb. But at least they’re poorly enforced. 

2. Carousel 5 says Denver (lost #2)

Landing at LGA, I went to carousel 5, where the flight attendants said our bags would be. The sign over it said “Denver.” I had flown from Houston. Houston is not Denver. I asked the agent standing there. He said all the Houston bags were out; if mine wasn’t, I should go to the office. I went to the office. I gave the office agent my flight number. She asked for my claim check. I told her I’d left it on the plane. She tutted, found my information anyway, and told me to go back to the carousel. I went back. My bag was there. The agent at the carousel told me he’d tried to shout for me to come back the moment he realized he’d been wrong. He might have been wrong. But at least he tried to fix it, however poorly. 

3. The green bag (regained)

When the plane landed, the woman beside me turned around and said, “My bag’s in the overhead of row 13, five rows back. Green bag. Could you pass it up?” And people did. A wheely bag, no less. At least 6 strangers joined the mission. Great move. I’m surprised it worked. Well played. 

Keeping the Faith

In downtown Houston, I yelled “Praise the Lord!” Two women on the street ahead of me turned around. In New York, where I live, and Chicago, where I’d spent the last 5 days, strangers don’t look at crazy people. In Houston they do. Maybe Houston keeps its crazy people off the street. In 24 hours downtown, I didn’t see any.

I wondered if Houston just removes them. I looked it up: it’s a mix. Houston housed a lot of its homeless, Texas bans public camping, and a city built for cars has fewer sidewalks to be seen on anyway.

About 18 hours later, I boarded a Houston tram. A man with wild eyes came to the door, clasped his hands, and started begging a being only he could see. No one moved away from him. Back home we’d have given him a wide berth. Here, the crowd understands him.

Houston gives a pass for praying.

Why Do People Live Here?

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To win, position well. To position well, realize it’s a choice. 

“Why do people live here?”

It’s a common refrain when I travel. And I travel a lot.

Between 2018 and 2025, I lived in a van, driving around the U.S. and Canada. For 4 months in 2022, I lived in Australia, New Zealand, Japan, Indonesia, and South Korea. And most places make absolutely no sense to me.

New Orleans, New York, San Francisco: I get. Austin, Seoul, Paris, Tokyo: totally. But Chicago? Kansas City? Cleveland? Dallas and Houston? Those tiny towns in Nevada and Colorado and Oregon with more elevation than people?

I’m in Chicago for a friend’s wedding. A surprise thunderstorm shook our windows. Two years ago when I visited, I heard a siren. I asked my friend: “What’s that siren for?” He said it’s a weather warning: we were about to be cold enough to be deadly.

The trains run above ground (terribly noisy), and most don’t even run all night. The weather is always either too hot or too cold. The theater and art are good, but not as good as New York or L.A. The food is tasty, but overwhelmingly unhealthy. Maybe it’s the sports?

I don’t buy that most people intentionally choose where to live based on their values and preferences.

Where & why? 

Ask people why they live where they live (I do, constantly) and most people give one of 4 answers:

  1. They were born there. (This is Partner’s most frequent response when I pose the question.)
  2. Work or school took them there.
  3. A lover took them there.
  4. It’s the nearest city to where they were born. (Partner grew up in the “big city” for her area, because it had a Walmart. This “big city”: 16,000 people.)

Who’s the actor here? 

Every answer describes something that happened to the person. Born there: the game placed you. Work took you: the company (or admissions committee) chose. A lover took you: the lover chose (or their company did). Nearest city: the game placed you, plus a radius.

Where you live is one of the biggest decisions in your life. It decides your environment, your friends, your culture, your wages, your rent, and your weekends. And it’s a rare big game where most players never even realize they’re playing. The board hands them an opening setup, and they just accept it.

I can count on one hand the friends who chose their place to live by auditioning and deciding.

Reality & possibility

How many people decide where to go? Between 18 and 30, do you explore while you can (no mortgage, no kids, career still portable)? After your kids leave home, do you think about moving?

Money, visas, family gravity: there are good reasons to stay where you live. But a lot of it strikes me as activation energy. You’re a distinct person with individual tastes. And you just happen to have been born in exactly the right place? 

I’ll take the other side of that bet.

French Security: Worse Than Nothing

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Whatever they’re trying to do, they’re failing.

French security sucks. It’s worse than nothing. At least nothing wouldn’t delay tourists.

I approach the metal detector. I hand the officer my backpack. I walk through the detector. He hands me my backpack. Sounds like a normal security process. Except he never looked inside my bag.

Same thing yesterday at the Paris catacombs: at the end, a man seated at a desk with a sign saying open your bags so we can ensure you’re not stealing bones. But he doesn’t open your bags. He doesn’t even wave you on. He just plays on his phone.

Three months ago at a Parisian rugby match: the security officers pat down every entrant. Partner stayed in my line. The officer gestured her to a line with a female agent. Partner walked past him. He let her go.

At Orly Airport, you must navigate through all of the stanchions in sequence, even if the line is 0 people. An extra 60 meters of walking per person. One white-haired woman ducked under the rope. The officers yelled at her. She said, “I’m old, it’s hard to walk!” They demanded she go back.

The Louvre was heisted last October. Has nothing changed? Do none of the workers know the point of their jobs? Do none of them believe in their work? Are they too snoozy from the fondue lunch? (Author’s note: fondue is Swiss. But it does make me snoozy.)

What game is this?

The goal of the game is to win. I say that a lot. Sometimes too much. The goal of the game is to win; you win by doing X. But it’s pretty fundamental: if you’re not trying to win, what are you doing?

Sometimes the goal is different. Sometimes it’s to not-lose. Sometimes it’s to survive. Sometimes it’s to tie. But this security bullshit? Whatever it is, it’s not achieving it.

Even some contrived goal, like “create a specific form of job stability for a certain number of people in France without disrupting the general French living and working systems”, couldn’t you do that better? And that’s already super contrived.

The best rebuttal: fake security still deters. Which is fair. True. Like the faux eyes on the wings of a moth, the mere existence of security may prevent me from attempting to sneak a gun into the [insert grand French monument].

But fake security works when it appears real. If the moth has a sign saying “These are just mock eyes; I’m actually a helpless moth, teehee”, that bug is getting nommed. And today, at the Palais de Justice, a guard waves visitors through a body scanner. The alarm went off on the visitor behind me. The guard ignored it, clicked “Ok,” and waved the woman through. You can’t advertise the fakeness! Bluffing is one thing! This is bluffing while turning your cards face up!

Even I get it!

I don’t like security. I’m fully anti-TSA. Considering the rate of deaths by terrorist attack vs the rate of deaths by automobile crashes, I’m even pro-shrug-it-off re 9/11.

But even I understand the point of security. I get why we have it. I just think it’s dumb.

This version of security is the worst version! Not only does it have no impact; it also wastes people’s time! What the hell are you doing, France?!

Do you want to get invaded by the Germans for the fourth time in 160 years? Because you’re sure acting like it!

Will You Take Twenty Dollars?

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The goal of the game is to play. You play by paying the entrance fee. Everyone’s invited. 

Outside the original ruin bar in Budapest, the bouncer quoted me the price to skip the line: “Ten euros.” 

“Ten euros for two?” I offered. 

“Ten euros each,” he said. 

“Will you take twenty dollars for two?” 

“Of course,” he replied, in a voice so light and generous it could only belong to commerce. ($20 is about 15% less than 20€.)

He wasn’t being sloppy. He was filtering. Part of his job is revenue generation. The other part is selecting patrons who will spend more money inside. The 15% discount doesn’t matter; if we’re willing to play his game, he’s already won. 

My favorite cities have always been the commercial ones. Vegas when I was young, then recently New York and Amsterdam. They run on a meritocracy of cash, with a cosmopolitan, equalizing energy. Nobody cares who you are or where you came from: Your money is good here. 

Everyone in these cities is trying to screw you, at least a little, and often not subtly. New York: There’s a man in an official-looking vest selling tickets to the Staten Island Ferry, which is free. Vegas casinos install ugly carpets and no clocks so you keep your eyes on the slot machines and forget what time it is. The Dutch more or less invented economic colonialism. None of these are ethical, but there is a particular brand of honesty to them. There’s an honesty in a structure being explicitly hyper-optimized for a purpose. A traveler going to Las Vegas may affectionately refer to it as “Lost Wages”, and go anyway! 

Social games (status, position, politics) extract, too. They just don’t tell you the price. I’ll take the bouncer with a clear sense of haggle over a gatekeeper with an opaque shibboleth any day. He’s named his price. I haggled at it. He accepted. 

Commerce can be a brutal game. But it’s also fair, kind, and possible. I remember talking with a homeless New Yorker two blocks from Central Park in 2021. Israeli-born, formerly US military, he told me he loved homelessness in New York: the crowds, the parks, the safety, the free food everywhere. New York is a wonderful place to have nothing.  

So was Las Vegas: it was the first place I went when I moved into a van. You don’t need to gamble; you can people-watch, eat a meatball the size of your head for $10, or palm a $1 cocktail shrimp meant to lure you toward a table you’ll never sit at. Abundance runs downhill to those willing to travel for it. But you must be willing to travel. And you must accept that one day it will dry up. 

This new generation doesn’t gamble. Vegas, needing new revenue sources, raised its food prices. After my prior trip to Sin City disappointed, the last time I had the opportunity for a layover in Vegas, I went to Reno a day early instead. 

The bouncer’s “of course” was more than a discount. It felt like the loose money of my early twenties, the ZIRP years in the Bay Area, when a kid fresh out of college could get hired to write at $50 an hour because nobody was counting that closely yet. It felt like being let in.

Your money is good here. So is mine. The door is open if you’re willing to play.  

And perhaps the most beautiful part: Whenever some entity – a country or company or culture – makes rules excluding some people from playing, they’ll rapidly lose the commerce game that made them dominant in the first place. It’s self-correcting, a thing of beauty. 

Of course.

Fishy Paprikash

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The dish is what the chef cooks. The meal is what the customer eats.

At 3pm this afternoon, I bit into a chicken paprikash. “This tastes fishy,” I said to Partner, and shifted to the other chicken thigh on the plate. 

Fifteen minutes later, Partner ate from the fishy thigh. “This tastes fishy,” she said. I agreed, and we continued on with our snack.

At the end of the meal, the waiter asked why we’d only eaten 2/3 of the portion. I said, “That piece tasted fishy.” 

The waiter took the plate back to the chef. Two minutes later, he returned. The chef had tasted the piece. The piece did not taste of fish. “The fish, you see, is kept in a sealed bag separate from the chicken.” 

Partner replied something like, “It tasted fishy to me.” I agreed. Partner clarified: we did not think it actually was fish, just that it tasted more like fish than chicken should. (I did not say anything. I thought it more helpful solution to let the guy spin his way to a result.)

The waiter left. He returned with a plate of pickled red onions. “We discovered what it is!” he said. “Three of us in the kitchen tasted and conferred. These may have been on it, so it might have tasted like fish.”

We tasted them. They tasted like pickled red onions. We said, “These taste like pickled red onions.” He insisted we smell them, then taste them. We smelled them, then tasted them. We said, “These taste like pickled red onions.” 

Neither of us had been terribly unhappy. One of the two chicken thighs tasted like fish. No biggie: there are plenty of chicken paprikash in the Budapest sea.

Later, as I reflect, I’m less irked by the fishy food than the denial. Whether or not the dish “contains” fish, our experience of it was fishy. Taste is an experience.

The waiter could have won. Studies show that dissatisfied customers whose experiences improve are actually happier than those who were never dissatisfied (the Service Recovery Paradox). How about honoring our experience? “I’m so sorry you experienced it as fishy. The chef tasted it and I tasted it and we couldn’t get to the bottom of it, but I hope you’ll give us another shot next time” beats denying the fishiness.

Throw in a free shot of palinka (super cheap Hungarian national alcohol that everybody’s grandfather makes), even better. Partner & I wouldn’t have drunk it (we’ve had enough palinka for three lifetimes), but that’s not the point.

We weren’t fishing for a discount or trying to catch some special treatment. But even if we are, he’s better off taking our bait. Floundering for an explanation only sinks the ship deeper. 

No amount of swimming upstream would change our reported experience, and a little humility would have been net-positive.

The chef tasted the food. We ate the meal.

St. Stephen’s Hand

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When is a hand not a Hand? 

St. Stephen’s Hand is definitely St. Stephen’s Hand and is probably not St. Stephen’s hand. 

  • St. Stephen: 11th-century king of Hungary. Real guy. Had a right hand. 
  • St. Stephen’s Basilica: big church in Budapest. Contents include marble, gold, and a mummified right hand. 
  • St. Stephen’s hand: the actual historical hand of St. Stephen, dead 15 August 1038. 
  • St. Stephen’s Hand: mummified hand. Made the rounds: Croatia, Austria, now Budapest. Encased in an ornate golden box. 

The Catholic Church venerates this mummified hand as St. Stephen’s Hand. And thanks to fancy modern technology, we could test whether it’s also St. Stephen’s hand. 

But does it matter? 

Facts vs Hand-y Symbols

Carbon dating could tell us whether the hand comes from the right decade. 

DNA testing could tell us at least whether the hand is from a male and likely if the ancestry is a probable match (and not, say, an Egyptian mummy).

I don’t buy that it matters. 

The Hand of St. Stephen comes from the same organization that brought you The Body of Christ. To a Catholic, the eucharist is both the literal body of Christ, and Catholics who consume it are not cannibals. 

To a non-Catholic, those don’t jibe. 

Where laypeople see logical inconsistencies, Catholics have hyper-specific explanations fit for each circumstance. 

Idolatry is prohibited in Catholicism, thanks to the original constitution (the Ten Commandments, starring Charlton Heston). 

Yet, the entire basilica is organized around a mummified hand under glass, a money slot next to it, and candles you can light for €1.

Catholics say praying in front of The Hand is not idolatry. Most Protestants and nearly all Jews disagree. But Catholics have a particular distinction for this sort of behavior: 

  • “Veneration” is the appropriate honoring of a holy symbol that points the worshipper toward God. 
  • “Worship” is the inappropriate honoring of the symbol itself as God. 

In Catholic doctrine, categorically different. From the outside, indistinguishable. 

If I can’t externally verify whether you’re worshipping or venerating, is it idolatry? 

What is the sound of one St. Stephen’s Hand clapping? 

The Castle

In 1896 Hungary built a mock castle out of wood and cardboard for its millennium celebration: Vajdahunyad Castle.  

The castle proved so popular that, from 1902-1908, Hungary rebuilt Vajdahunyad Castle out of stone. This building blends Romanesque, Gothic, Renaissance, and Baroque elements spanning ten centuries of Hungarian architecture. It now houses the Hungarian Museum of Agriculture. 

Partner asks: is it a real castle? 

Across the river and on top of the hill, the Buda Castle has been destroyed and rebuilt multiple times over the last 750 years. The most recent incarnation follows severe damage in WWII, so it is newer than Vajdahunyad Castle, and it is in a modernist style, so it looks less “castle-y” than the Vajdahunyad Castle. 

The cardboard version was clearly not a “Real Castle”. What about now, after 100 years in stone? 

The Costs

Upon entering St. Stephen’s Basilica, one may light a candle for either 300 HUF or 1€. This conversion is the closest-to-accurate HUF-to-EUR I’ve encountered in Hungary. The Catholic Church does its math. 

Just outside the Basilica, one of the staff members instructs you to remove your hat. 

The Christian god, evidently, is offended if He cannot see the top of your head. The Jewish god, I hear, is offended if He can. Many people say this is the same god. 

I’m curious what happens if a Jew with a yarmulke walks in. 

A yarmulke is a hat. The instructions say “No hats”. 

Perhaps a yarmulke is a Hat that is not a hat. 

To enter the Basilica, one must pay 2700HUF (around $9), unless you’re a religious person (with certificate) or a pilgrim (with certificate). 

I wonder what price I could get for certificates sold at the door. 

If arrested, I would have to tell the police that my certificates are not fake; they are merely Certificates. 

Five Chicken Paprikash

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In only 2 days.

At the end of Budapest day 4, Partner & I have eaten 5 orders of chicken paprikash. We didn’t even have any until day 3. Tomorrow’s plan: more chicken paprikash.

Budapest is now my favorite food city. Good Budapest restaurants all hover between 4.5 and 5 stars. You might think the high ratings come from rating inflation. They do not. The food is actually that good.

I like good food. I want to experience local dishes. After only two days of exploring, I did not expect to start to exploit. 

Explore Phase

Friday lunch: goose “bacon” and shakshouka at a well-regarded local jewish eatery.

Friday dinner: beef tartare, goulash in a basement whose walls might date back to the 1800s.

Saturday lunch: duck pate with rabbit tenderloin, and monkfish at a Michelin-starred restaurant.

Saturday dinner: beef tartare in a stunning courtyard.

Sunday afternoon: beef tartare, along with our first chicken paprikash, at some basic, non-descript restaurant. 

Now I’m Hooked

Sunday dinner: 1 more beef tartare, and 1 more chicken paprikash. But we’re still hungry, and Partner wants cake that is mostly chocolate buttercream, so we head to a local cafe for dobos torte and another chicken paprikash. 

Monday lunch: beef tartare & chicken paprikash from a place recommended on reddit. 

Monday dinner (tonight): chicken paprikash and a disappointing goulash soup. 

Explore within the Exploit

Trying every chicken paprikash is an exploration. 

Partner and I fly to Paris on Thursday. That gives us 2 more full food days. 

We might have beef tartare and chicken paprikash at 6 more meals. We would love this. Imagine the variation within the form! The different specificity! The hyper-specific options! 

When the chicken was roasted separately, it lacks a depth of cohesive flavor (i.e. the chicken is separate from the sauce, not one with the sauce). When the sour cream sits atop the noodles, you must mix it in or perish. The “dumpling” variation is vast: each chicken paprikash comes with a “dumpling”, but they range from crêpe to cube to spaetzle. (And frankly I think it’s nonsense to refer to any of them as a dumpling anyway.) 

Deep exploitation is exploration, just on a finer grain. 

Partner is excited to learn to cook it, and what better way to make it well than to try all the variations and learn what you enjoy?

[Partner says, “I want your fanbase to comment other Hungarian food for us to try. They won’t.” Prove her wrong?]

Two Service Industries

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The waiter has two jobs. So does everyone in the service industry.

A waiter who doesn’t bring your food has failed. A waiter who brings your food but ruins your experience has also failed, just in a different way. We refer to both of these elements with the same word: “service”.

Two completely different failure modes, one job title. The waiter sells a result (correct order arrives, hot) and an experience (the welcome, the rhythm of the table, the small talk, the upsells that don’t feel pushy).

Most service jobs are like this. A masseuse sometimes sells a result (your glutes stop screaming) and sometimes sells an experience (60 minutes of affectionate touch from a fellow primate). A hotel sells a result (somewhere safe to sleep, proximity to the places you want to be, a gym, food without leaving the building) and an experience (the pleasantness of all of it).

The word “service” hides two different products. Once you notice this, every purchase decision gets easier, because you stop accidentally paying for the one you don’t want.

(People miscategorize their purchases all the time. Doctors, for instance, are in the service industry. Personally, I only value “bedside manner” insofar as it impacts my medical results, generally through team cohesion.) 

The Hotel Switch

This idea showed up today while I switched hotels in Budapest.

Hotel 1 was the Kimpton BEM. $340 per night. Sauna, gym, restaurant, bar, room service, a quick walk to the Danube. A small room. No refrigerator. Paid laundry. Beautiful experience, modest result.

Hotel 2 is an aparthotel. $61 per night. A one-bedroom apartment (separate bedroom and living room). A kitchen with stove, oven, microwave, dishes, refrigerator. A laundry machine. One block from the biggest ruin bar in Budapest.

For the same money, I’d take the aparthotel every time: twice the space, a real kitchen, a better location, an in-unit laundry machine. The Kimpton costs roughly 5.5x as much. At that price, you’re buying 1) The experience of being attended to, and 2) Reliability (of room, food, and experience: Kimpton is a reputable brand.

The Preference

I’m probably odd in that I almost always want the result.

I prefer my infrastructure solves specific needs. If it solves the need, the work is done; the pleasure of the experience is secondary to the solving of the problem.

The key exception: play. I don’t play golf to get the ball in the hole. I play golf to play golf. Play is the rare context where the experience IS the product, and I’m clear on that going in.

Perhaps some people see visiting a hotel as play. I see it as infrastructure. 

The Cost

The aparthotel model isn’t free. You have to learn it. Photos lie. Hosts ghost. There’s no front desk at this residence: if you fail their check-in process, their automated system won’t email you the login code.

The variance is real: I once caught a nasty cough from a booking.com stay due to mold on the walls.

The result-first approach trades reliability for upside on the days nothing goes wrong. Most days, nothing goes wrong. And my skill at spotting good residences has improved. But I improved… by making mistakes.

The Result

As I write this I’m on the couch in our new living room, and Partner is squishing my feet. My feet hurt because the Kimpton was a 45-minute walk from the lively downtown area (from which Partner and I walked back to the Kimpton at 2am last night).

I’m enjoying the experience of a feet-squish from someone I love. Still, I’d rather we jumped to the result where my feet stopped hurting.

Top-Secret Games: Airport Edition 

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Serious places make the silliest games

Airports pretend they’re fancier than bus stations. Some games to remind them of their silliness: 

Packing

  • Try “one–bagging”: no matter how long the trip, pack everything in a personal-item-sized backpack. Partner and I traveled through Europe for 4 months with one 20L backpack each. Benefits include: 
  1. Less to lug
  2. Recognize how little you actually need. 
  3. Save $50+ per budget airline flight (which charge for carry-ons). That $50 (or $75!) could go toward a new shirt or hat or socks or whatever-you-neglected-due-to-your-limited-space-and-probably-won’t-need-anyway. 

Checking in

  • Snap a picture of the airplane seatmap. This may come in handy. 

TSA Checkpoints

Which line?

Most people choose by line length. But length is often less important than throughput speed. At a fork, neither line is likely to be 25% longer. But one TSA agent often is 25% slower. 

Free Awkward Massage

When you’ve arrived to the airport with ample time to spare, tell the TSA agent, “I’d like to opt out of the body scanner”. 

They’ll summon an agent who aligns with their perception of your gender appearance (androgynous people: I have no idea). 

That person will blandly-and-with-dead-eyes presage the next two minutes of your future. Their articulation will be simultaneously formal (“I will first pat down your upper body, then your lower body…”) and ridiculous (“When I get to your sensitive areas, such as the waistband, I will use only the back of my hands”). 

The experience feels like a procedural drama crossed with a lazy streetwalker naming service prices. You know it’s pointless and dumb. They know it’s pointless and dumb. And now they’re obligated to touch you. 

For an added joy, leave something innocuous in your pocket: your passport or a few coins or a used dental flosser. 

While they’re performing this intimate massage, try not to laugh. 

Or guffaw at their pointlessness. 

Or lean on them while they’re bending over to pat you. 

On a societal level: there’s no winning. It isn’t a game. It’s a farce.

In the Lounge

0. Play credit card games to acquire lounge access. (These games are pre-preparation.) 

  1. Before leaving the lounge, choose between Future Fueling Level 1 (stuffing your backpack with canned drinks to go), and Future Fueling Level 2 (squirreling food into the ziplocs you brought). I play level 1; Partner Level 2. 

At the Gate

  1. If it’s your birthday, tell the counter check-in people it’s your birthday. (Most of their work is dealing with annoyed travelers, so they really love this refreshing opportunity!) 
  2. If it’s not your birthday, ponder the ethics of telling them it’s your honeymoon. (Decide against it as your partner doesn’t have a ring and you really don’t want them to ask, plus lying to win games is cheating.)
  3. Ask the gate agent whether the airplane is full. If it’s not, ask them if they could move you to better seats. Do not pay for the change: that’s how the terrorists win. 

When lining up for budget airlines with your Onebag®, do the following:

0. Have a bag that, if need be, is small enough to fit in the sizer if you put on all your layers and jam your pockets full. (The first step to winning is choosing a game you can win.) 

  1. Seek the person who is least interested in doing their job correctly. 
  2. Position your body to hide your bags. 
  3. Upon approaching the desk, ask them a question that distracts them without increasing their engagement, something like “Have you been to [destination city]? It’s my first time.” Be kind and friendly and light. You’ll know you’ve succeeded when their dead eyes shift energyless to the person behind you. 

Boarding the Plane

  1. If the plane has open seating, board earliest. See the “final note” (below) for methods to keep your neighboring seat empty. 
  2. Board last. If the agents ask, tell them it’s because “Boarding last is lucky!” And it is! The last person on the plane gets to see what seats are available before taking theirs.
    1. This approach enables the harnessing of what million milers call “poor man’s first class” (an open row).

Final Note 

  • Throughout this experience, if you ever want to repel someone’s attention (maybe your bag is slightly too big; maybe the plane is open-seating and you want the open seat beside you to remain), make a grotesque face and pick your nose. (Only pull this trick if you want to distract their attention and don’t have to interact with them. If the interaction is mandatory, this move can be dangerous.) Really get into it. Remind yourself, “No one expects a nose-picker to be strategic. Some people actually look like this or pick their nose like this. I wouldn’t want to interact with them, either!” 

On Skillful Calibration (and Safely Pokin’ Gators!)

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To improve, calibrate. To calibrate, employ expected value calculations (which is more fun than it sounds).

Two years ago, a friend passed on the opportunity to invest in Anthropic. He now regrets passing.

This friend prioritizes calibration. Yesterday I learned why he generally avoids risks. When viewing a risk, he considers only the magnitude, failing to also include the risk’s probability.

Expected value is one of game theory’s most powerful calculations: 

  • Probability × Magnitude = Expected Value. 

My friend is not unique: people often drop one of the two terms. Include both in your simple math; your outcomes will be better calibrated. (And it only takes a second!)

Magnitude-Only: Frozen From Fear

Considering only the downside magnitude over-biases against action. This heuristic will keep you alive but not enable you to thrive.

This example occurs whenever somebody says, “But what if it fails?” as a conversation ender. Slap a probability on that bad boy and you’ve got an EV.

Probability-Only: Missing the Magnitude

A friend once described why they don’t vote: “the likelihood I’ll have an impact is near-zero.” Ah, but tomes have been written about the enormous magnitude.

When someone says, “It probably won’t happen,” or “it’s a drop in a bucket,” check they’re also considering the size of the bucket. If the impact is large enough, the low likelihood that your single drop makes it overflow may be enough.

EV → More Fun

During my all-time favorite date, Partner and I hooted & hollered at an alligator.

Twenty minutes earlier, we strolled down a path through a Louisiana swamp. Partner meandered toward some tall grass. I said, “I wouldn’t do that.” Partner was surprised because her self-preservation instinct usually eclipses mine. I mentioned alligators, and said: in this circumstance, the magnitude is very bad (being eaten by a gator) and the probability much higher than usual (Louisiana swamps contain alligators, and Pokémon has taught me to beware tall grass).

Compare that moment to later: on a bridge 10 feet above an alligator. The magnitude is still very bad, but the likelihood de minimis. (Teehee, alligators can’t jump 10 feet!) 

Since we knew ourselves to be safe, we could poke the gator with our metaphorical stick.

When something seems scary, investigate the probability. E.g. “I can’t miss work to see my child’s school play: I could lose my job.” 

This concern is well-founded, but misses two elements: the likelihood of losing your job (probability) and the fact that you can influence that likelihood via other actions (malleable probability). (I’ll write more on malleable probability another time, especially as it relates to luck.)

Expanding your Vocabulary

Expected Value is a core step, but it is only the first step.

Error bars can make this topic tougher. The question “How likely is extra-terrestrial life to exist in our universe?” prompts wildly different outcomes whether you include the error bars.

So even if you do the EV calculation, you’ll still be wrong sometimes, you’ll still lose sometimes, and there’s still more calculation to do. (For a fun example, see Pascal’s Mugging.)