The Accountant
From the Diary of an Incarcerated Alien
Happy Julius Pipe believes in the miracle of compounding, which, as far as miracles go, is an undeniable beauty to behold.
Let’s do a little math. I know—you’re already bored. But math, like profanity, makes sense sometimes.
Compounding. You put in $1,000 at 6%. Two years later: $1,123. Boring. Five years: $1,338. Still boring. Ten years: $1,790. Twenty years: $3,207. Thirty years: $5,743. That’s a 474% return on money you did nothing with.
Exponential growth, baby!
Now add a zero to that investment and bump the rate to 7%. You’ll shit yourself. That’s why those people who tell you to invest early and often are so sure of themselves. They understand the true miracle of compounding. The below graph illustrates my point.
But this is neither a financial post nor an investing newsletter. Remember, I’m an interdimensional being, so money matters are just fun experiments for me.
As I witnessed in Happy’s mind-hole, compounding is not only a miracle divined on financial altars. Its magic operates in any context, in any direction. In a sense, a human’s growth has everything to do with the choices he makes and how those choices chain react across his evolution.
We can say that all our habits, good or bad, compound over time. Attitudes are a fine example of this.
Let’s say a human, Frank from Shipping and Logistics, says something nice to another human, Vanessa from Human Resources. That positive interaction could lead to more positive interactions. And the more Vanessa talks with Frank, the more she is inclined to listen to him. She might even like him. It’s a very simple example of how a human being nice to another human can compound and progress.
It’s a shame, then, that Frank from Shipping and Logistics is always complaining to Vanessa from Human Resources. She feels frustrated and generally shitty around Frank, and every time she sees him, she wants to say, “Fuck you, Frank.” And when she says “fuck you, Frank” even in her mind, she carries an edgy and uncomfortable feeling around with her.
So, avoid Frank from Shipping and Logistics. I would, but I’m stuck in Happy’s mind-hole, which has its own challenges.
I wouldn’t call him an “asshole,” per se, but he’s also not the opposite of one.
This became apparent when I ran into a giant accounting demon from The Department of Human Intentions. He had a pocket protector and wore highwater pants.
Unlike the ski demon I bested recently, I had to be careful with this guy. He could crush me like a grape.
“Hello, you magnificent thing,” I said to The Accountant. I had to crane my neck to reach ball level with the behemoth. He was holding a large bucket of heavy, spherical things, like balls, and ignored me. “Can I help you with anything?” I asked him.
Being a connoisseur of the human mind, I can tell you that the word “demon,” which connotes something that has bad influence on human thinking, is often confused with “daemon,” which tends to be a positive, guiding force. From where I smoke my cigarettes, they are about the same. I prefer “demon” since it has a little edge, although nothing I have witnessed from these entities is malicious.
This large fucker was organizing a heaping pile of balls into buckets. Here is where I witnessed the magic. The buckets had labels that showed a human intention. I saw a bucket for financial planning, for example, and another for exercise. I can tell you that the container for financial planning was about the size of a compact car while the one for exercise was more like a trash can. There was a bucket for family logistics and another for work. And among all the buckets, a very small container labeled “gratitude.”
When the Accountant put one of his giant balls into a bucket, the container just grew larger.
“Why is that one so small?” I pointed to the shot glass labeled “gratitude.”
The giant paused his ball-slotting and narrowed his eyes at me. He was so big and intimidating that I nearly shit myself.
“Do you question my judgment?” He had a thunderous voice, like a god. I did shit myself a little.
“I am but a humble traveler,” I said. “What’s with all the balls?” He blinked and sighed, and realized I was but a simple alien. He bent down on one knee, like addressing a child.
“The spheres are intentions,” he said. “The human is overwrought with them.”
He was pretty dramatic in his word choice, but I nodded and held my composure like I respected that.
“How interesting,” I said. ‘Humans are overwrought with bullshit’ is what I would have said if I hadn’t already shit myself.
“And while some of these intentions are very clear —” he held out a sphere that showed Happy reviewing the top ten holdings of an exchange-traded fund and dropped it in the financial planning bucket, “others are not as clear.”
He showed me a ball where Happy was editing a document for work but really planning out the carpool schedule for the day’s activities. He dropped that one in the “family logistics” bucket, which, instead of overflowing, grew in size. It was big like an industrial barn.
“Your hugeness is very wise,” I said. I made my way to the small jar labeled “gratitude” and picked it up. “Shouldn’t this be bigger?”
“It is not our job to expand the traits we wish to see,” the demon said. “Rather, we must account for the human’s intentions with honesty and accuracy.”
Back on Xobtish, alone with only a BIG DICK to guide me, I never needed buckets. But if Happy’s buckets represented the human experience, then good intentions and rational thought seem contradictory. Fortunately for Happy, I am a crafty alien.
“I’m a novice when it comes to humans,” I said to The Accountant.
“It’s okay,” he said. “I’ve been organizing human intentions for years. I’m amazed at how consistently they focus on the wrong things.”
“I hope to be more like you,” I lied. “For example, I would have put that ball in the gratitude jar.”
The giant turned over his hand and stared at the ball that showed Happy setting up an automatic investment in his children’s brokerage accounts. Each month, he would transfer a small sum into their accounts to invest it in a group of low-cost index funds. It is a simple practice that avoids thinking.
“Humans save and invest money for their progeny,” the giant said. “This is what they call financial planning.”
He had a deep and sonorous voice. I would have loved to hear him narrate a documentary about dinosaurs. “Yes, but I would have put it in the gratitude jar.”
The giant raised his eyebrows. I went on. “My inexperience would have told me that although he is performing a financial act, he is really expressing gratitude that he is able to save something for his children–” I raised my index finger, “–because he is able to lessen a future burden for them.”
The giant stood up, nearly knocking me over with his enormous balls. He smiled and, in the most charitable way, placed the ball I described into the gratitude jar. It immediately grew ten times in size. Afterward, the giant waved me off and continued to organize his balls.
And while I can affirm, having lived in Happy’s mind for a little while now, that changes in human attitude are subtle, I sensed that Happy was a little brighter, if only on the inside. Naturally, I concluded this had to do with an increase in his capacity for gratitude.
Yes, it was still the smallest bucket of intentions, but that’s the miracle, isn’t it? Small things compound,one little ball at a time. And if you’re lucky, there will be a handsome alien trapped in your mind-hole, nudging you in the right direction.