Kapitoil performs well and we slowly increase our investments, although we are careful not to create market fluctuations. At noon I receive an emaiclass="underline"
Mr. Issar,
This is the secretary for Derek Schrub. Mr. Schrub would like to know if you are free to play racquetball at 3 p.m. today (he has already spoken to George Ray). Clothing and equipment will be provided.
I try to contain my stimulation in front of my podmates by clapping my hands together softly under the desk, as this presents a golden opportunity to become acquainted with Mr. Schrub. In addition, now I know why Mr. Schrub smiled at the racquetball analog.
When I am ready to leave, I put Kapitoil on automatic trades and pick up my briefcase. “Where are you going?” Dan asks.
“I am meeting with another Schrub team member,” I say, which is true. “I want to discuss the Doha operations and the cost-cutting measures my supervisor there, Mr. Sayed, took. E.g., we saved 7 % in telephone costs by metering employees’ personal calls, and 12 % in productivity costs by blocking various email websites. Mr. Sayed, whose first name is Sadik, which means ‘full of truth’—”
Dan plugs in his earphones.
I take the subway uptown to 59th St. and walk east along the border of Central Park to his apartment. There is a doorman outside who is white and has whiter hair. I tell him I am there to see Mr. Schrub. “I work at Schrub Equities,” I say, which is now strange to say because I am saying it at Mr. Schrub’s residence and not his business.
“ID,” the doorman says, with an accent that I believe is Irish. He looks at my Schrub ID, calls on a telephone inside, and directs me to take the elevator up to the athletic complex on floor 13.
Instead of wood and brass and gold like inside my lobby, this one does not appear as quality, which initially surprises me. There is white marble with pink veins like the sky at sunset, and the walls and ceilings have frames of regular plaster. The classier buildings do not have to attempt so hard to look classy, just as Mr. Schrub does not have to shake hands with too much force.
I receive clothing and equipment from the reception desk and change, then go to the court and wait several minutes, but Mr. Schrub does not appear. I am glad I am about to play racquetball so I have an excuse for perspiring. To reroute my brain I challenge myself with a problem: How many racquetballs can fit inside a racquetball court?
1. The court is 20 feet wide and 20 feet high and 40 feet long, so there are 16,000 cubic feet of space for the ball to pass through. In inches, this is (16,000)(123).
A. I estimate the diameter of a racquetball ball is approximately 2.5 inches. If I create a box that fits 2 balls by 2 balls by 2 balls for 8 balls total, then the box is 5 inches in each direction, or 53 = 125 cubic inches.
B. Therefore, (16,000)(123)/125 = number of boxes, or approximately 220,000 boxes = 1.76 million balls.
2. But boxes are an inefficient method of storage because they waste the space between the balls. So if I have a method of wasting zero space and packing the court 100 % with racquetballs, I would use this equation:
A. (16,000)(123)/the volume of a sphere. The volume of a sphere is (4/3)(
r3), or in this case (4/3)()(1.253), or approximately 8.3 repeating cubic inches.
B. Therefore, (16,000)(123)/8.3 repeating = approximately 3.5 million balls.
3. So, by packing them in boxes we can fit in approximately only half as many balls as we could in an ideal scenario in which the balls waste no space between them. But the ideal cannot exist, because then they would not truly be balls anymore.
4. The compromise between the box scenario and the ideal scenario is what supermarkets do with spherical fruits, which is a best-practice method of stacking them in pyramids, and this is another reason I value pyramids. In fact, this pattern is also the way some crystals align themselves under pressure, which is why diamonds are so sharp, because high pressure forces carbon atoms to align in the most compressed pattern possible: a regular, repeating structure. Most people think diamonds are beautiful because they mirror light, but I prefer to think of them this way, which is also one of the ways I think of Zahira and her name, because her brain’s connections are so sharp.
But I do not have time to evaluate the supermarket approach because the door opens behind me and Mr. Schrub appears. He is wearing white shorts and a white shirt with a collar that are parallel to mine, except his look higher quality.
We hit to each other, and I strike slowly at first, because I am uncertain how skilled he is and do not want to look like I am showing off, although I also do not want to look like I am a poor player. But he is better than I anticipated, so I hit harder, and after a few minutes we launch a game.
He lets me serve first. I know from the warm-up that I can defeat him if I want to, but I decide to win the first game, then lose the second game, then lose the last game in a close match. Typically this outcome pleases competitors I should lose to in Doha, and I think the same will happen with Mr. Schrub. I am not truly invested in the outcome of a match, but I merely enjoy playing it, although it is more fun when I can play my hardest and challenge my own limits.
I win the first game 15–9, but I intentionally let him score a few points. I am not a skilled liar with words, but it is easier with actions. He smiles and says, “Good game.”
When the score is 13–10 in my favor for the second game, I plan to lose the point on my serve so that I am not in danger of serving again on match point, but I accidentally win it when Mr. Schrub can’t return a ball I hit. “Avoidable hinder,” I call on myself.
“Nonsense,” Mr. Schrub says.
“I obstructed your path,” I say. “It is your serve.”
He waves his racquet like he is negating the idea. “Your point, fair and square. I’m just slow and old.”
Now I am nervous again, because if I win another point on my serve I will defeat him. But if I hit a very poor serve or shot, he might detect that I am trying to lose. So I decide I have to aim precisely and miss a shot by only a few inches.
I serve, and we rally for a few shots and Mr. Schrub continues hitting hard. I am surprised he does not play more cautiously, as people often do if they are afraid of losing. But that is how you must be in business as welclass="underline" Reject fear and take calculated risks. On my fourth shot I swing very hard and aim at the base of the wall, but I aim to hit the floor just before the wall so Mr. Schrub wins the point, and it is almost as if, before I strike it, I can observe the ray that links my racquet and the ball to my target.
Fortunately my mathematical brain makes me very skilled at racquetball.
He takes the ball for his serve and does not say anything, and I let him win the next five points, although I make it appear close. “Good game,” he says again, although this time he does not smile. “Tiebreaker to 11.”
I take an early lead but allow him to reduce the margin of deficit. When it is 8–8, Mr. Schrub says, “Looks like your program’s better than your backhand,” which is not very good sportsmanship, but I smile slightly and let him win the point when I hit a weak forehand that he smashes.
Before he serves, he says, “You can’t win with a pussy-willow shot like that.” I win the point, and then win a point on my serve to make it 9–9. Then I let him win two points in a row so that he serves for the match at 10–9.