A few days ago I posed the following question to few friends of mine.
The Question:
You find a trunk in your closet. In the trunk you find an envelope. In the envelope you find an American Express credit card with a piece of paper wrapped around it. On the AMEX is your name. On the note it reads: "You are allowed to charge as much money to this card as you would like but rather than payment in dollars, the payment will be in minutes. One dollar = one minute of your life." How many minutes would you spend and on what?
For reference:
• 1 hour = 60 mins
• 1 day = 1,440 mins
• 1 week = 10,080 mins
• 1 month = 40,320 mins
• 1 year = 483,840 mins
Chaz:
My first reaction to this question was "Life is sacred!” and I wouldn't charge a damn dollar. But then I began to think more about the daily routine of things, and how much life is worth. I would charge one year to the AMEX card.
Because by taking one year off my life, I’d be able to spend half a mil doing and seeing things that ordinarily I wouldn’t. Sure, I hope to be successful enough that I can retire early and travel the world, but if that doesn't happen, I'll just be spending that extra year chained to a desk anyway.
So I say, I'll blow off one year of my life, and instead use that money to engage in a lifetime's worth of traveling and activities. Plus, I could have enough money left over to start my own practice, business, or what-have-you. So I ask, is it quality of life, or quantity?
Demian:
I'm assuming three givens: 1) the note is true and it's not the work of deranged uncle trying to destroy my credit. 2) We don't know the exact date of our death. 3) Fate exists and I do have a pre-destined time of death that I can't avoid (except by using the card.)
Well, I choose to sodomize fate and determine my own time of death. Since the time span with which I'm working could be anywhere from eight minutes to 80 years, I would act as I did in DC, spending without paying any consideration to consequences, thus going out in a fiery blaze of glory that would be remembered for years to come.
I would spend roughly 160 minutes on a flight to Providence, Rhode Island to convince Cormac McCarthy to document my adventure. I would pay him one minute, which I could get away with because the less he accepts, the longer the story will be and the more he stands to make from book sales. From there, I would gather members of "The Year of the Wounded Dear," Holly, and a few other people, and travel through Europe on my dime (with Cormac McCarthy spinning fireside yarns at night). Each bar tab picked up, every hostel checked into, would tick away days, but it would be a long, glorious ride. More importantly, I would be flipping two sweet middle fingers to the idea of destiny and, to quote the wise sage Rex Grossman, "raping the ever-loving shit out of it."
Ideally, the last few minutes would be spent on a glass of Pinot Noir as the sun sets on Rome. I'd take a wistful sip, look out into the distance and say something so profound and romantic that Cormac himself would weep.
Rod:
American Express isn't accepted at a lot of places, so I'd raffle it off to some poor son of a bitch who hasn't seen a Visa commercial in 20 years. I'd use that money to enjoy myself doomsday-free.
Also, for you Christians out there... say you spend $1000, you only had 999 minutes to live, would that count as suicide and would that fast track you to hell? Technically it’s greed that killed you and that's a sin according to your God... quite a dilemma. If I were you I would find the fortune teller with the third nipple to tell you when you're going to die ahead of time so you don't accidentally commit yourself to eternal hell-fire for a fucking iPod Touch and 60 lap dances at Hustler Club when all you could afford was an iPod Nano and 42 dances at Hustler Club... 53 dances plus super AIDS if you go to Latin Palace down the street.
R. Fischer:
If I may answer my own query, and I may, let me quote the timeless poetry of Darius Rucker:
Time, why you punish me?
Like a wave bashing into the shore
You wash away my dreams.
Time, why you walk away?
Like a friend with somewhere to go
You left me crying
Can you teach me about tomorrow
And all the pain and sorrow
Running free?
Cause tomorrow's just another day
And I don't believe in time
The Hootie's message juxtaposes the hypothesis put forth by Matt Stone and Trey Parker iterated through the South Park episode "The Biggest Douche in the Universe”—their most popular medium—that time is not the enemy, but in fact a necessity to life along the lines of food, water, and bobos:
Liane: Doctor! Did you find out what's wrong with him?
Doctor: I'm afraid he's running out of time.
Liane: Why? What's wrong with him?
Doctor: It's his time. It's running out.
Liane: Well what does he need?
Doctor: He needs to have more time.
Liane: What can we do?
Doctor: Well, I suppose we could try a time transplant. I'll have to call in a specialist.
Clearly, Rucker would go to the bank with the card like Chaz. Life's value often derives its value not from quantity but quality. This leads to two natural questions a) can life's quality be improved by material acquisitions? b) and, is that quality improvement marginally higher than the base line acquisitions one can assume to accumulate during the course of a natural life?
Would I trade six hours of my life for a new PS3? No. How about 10 minutes for a rub-n-tug? Now we're talking. Off the top of my head, I can't determine a way to accurately measure the marginal value of certain material acquisitions (whether they’re tangible—PS3, puppies, Taylor Swift CDs, nuclear submarines, or intangible, consumable services like rub-n-tugs, lobster, attending a Taylor Swift concert or purchasing a woman's affection).
However, I believe in my own success deeply enough not to blow any of my life on a PS3 or a rub-n-tug, because I can afford both.
What could I possibly want that I can't afford without bartering my time? Hootie would say everything, because Hootie is singing from the perspective of a heartbroken sycophant desperate for some chick who spurned him and would be willing to give up his life to get her back. Stone and Parker suggest nothing, because of time's fleeting nature and it being invaluable due to its ultimate secrecy.
So for me, I'd drop a few months for a round the world vacation. I would shower some of the ones who got away with a couple months of lavish gifts because all girls at their core are materialistic whores who can be bought if they are convinced you are paying the premium, not the wholesale price. Plus I'd take two years cash advance, invest it in real estate (it only goes up) and pray that I have enough time left over to enjoy my winnings.
