Day 583: 5 Minute Freewrite: Sunday - Prompt: rate

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"At this rate, we're DONE before the end of the weekend!"

It was anathema to have even said that aloud inside Cleman Cousins, but the handwriting was on the wall.

Our company had borrowed $700 billion -- that's billion, with a b -- to invest in futures for acmes and whatchamathingies, and when you do things like that, bad things happen.

We had missed all the signs -- well, not those of us on the trading floor, but up in the corporate office -- that the rate of profitability on acmes and whatchamathingies was eroding rapidly for months before this terrible weekend in September. The problem was, everybody had all the acmes and whatchamathingies they wanted -- all colors, textures, makes, and materials.

As good as acmes and whatchamathingies are, there comes a point at which nobody needs another one. Then comes that point at which nobody WANTS another one. Then comes that point at which you can't borrow any more money from people stupid enough not to know that no one needs nor wants one more acme or whatchamathingy. Then comes that point at which you can't find anybody dumb enough to buy or lease the rights from the company to sell the acmes and whatchamathingies that nobody wants or needs.

We were already six months past that last point. Collapse was inevitable. Somebody finally had the nerve to say it.

"At this rate, we're DONE before the end of the weekend!"

He was fired. A little bit like getting thrown into the first lifeboat off the Titanic. For him, it wasn't really a stupid move, like it would have been for me.

I stayed into the last light was out and the last check was cut. Loyalty? No. Cleman Cousins' execs had shown no loyalty to us. A large part of that $700 billion I mentioned had gone into corporate jets and posh estates and huge bonuses. Sentiment? No. I've been with the company a long time, but you can't afford sentiment in this business.

I stayed the last five years because of naked self-interest: to retain my access to market knowledge our execs refused to acknowledge, and did my job and got paid to study.

I stayed and got the very last dime I could, and invested all but what my family needed in basic living expenses in doo-hickeys, the new craze sweeping the nation as people seek to comfort themselves for the collapse my company helped bring on. At this rate, my rate of return on those last five years of paychecks will be about 1,679 percent, and the doo-hickey craze is just beginning as the spirits of the people sink.

Let the bad times roll.

Photo Credit: Jp Valery on Unsplash