The Analyst

'Oil Prices Slip on Surprise Inventory Build'—that's what the headline says.

I don't know how this stuff works, nor do I care to know. I prefer to imagine someone who recently finished counting, one by one, the millions—the BILLIONS—of barrels in reserve across the world. This guy has had only eight hours of sleep over the last three days. And those few hours of sleep were on the floor under his desk. He's gone three days without seeing his family. Three days without shaving. Three days without a shower. Thank goodness he keeps a spare toothbrush and spray-on deodorant in the top drawer of his desk.

But this man—this analyst—he smiles as he looks over his report one last time. Here it is, he tells himself. All my hard work amounts to something. This is why I get paid the big bucks. All those hours, all that time spent accounting for every. single. barrel. of oil across the globe—all that work is here on the few pages that make up this report.

Before the analyst can hit Send on his email, there's a knock on his door. The door creaks open to reveal Jeff, the top-of-his-class Ivy League intern.

'Excuse me, sir,' Jeff says. Jeff looks at the floor and avoids eye contact.

The analyst sighs and lifts his hands from his keyboard and mouse. He crosses his arms as he plops against the back of his chair. 'What is it?'

'Well,' Jeff says and then takes a deep breath, 'we didn't account for everything, sir.' The analyst just stares at Jeff. 'We found some surprise inventory.'

The analyst raises his eyebrows. 'Surprise inventory? That's why we keep inventory—so there are no surprises. Where did it come from? Oil doesn't just magically appear, you know. It doesn't grow on trees.'

'A lot of it comes from the desert, where there are no trees,' Jeff says. The analyst smiles. This is why we don't hire graduates from state schools, he thinks. They don't learn as fast as these Ivy Leaguers.

'We forgot we stashed some barrels in New Jersey,' Jeff says.

'New Jersey? Why would we do that?'

'We didn't know where else to put it.'

The analyst sighs. 'It can't be that much, right?'

Jeff doesn't answer.

'How much are we talking?'

'We don't know, sir. That's why we need you to count them. You're the analyst, after all.'

The analyst holds in a scream.

'The boss says you should cancel your dinner plans with your family tonight,' Jeff says. 'Actually, he says you should clear your calendar for the next couple days.'

The analyst sighs again and stares up at the ceiling.

'I'll book you a flight for New Jersey,' Jeff says. The analyst nods and leans forward and plops his elbows on his desk and rests his head in his hands.

'Are you o—'

'Just book the flight,' the analyst barks at Jeff.

'Yes, sir,' Jeff says and turns to leave.

'Not New Jersey,' Jeff hears as he steps into the hallway. 'Not New Jersey again.'