Many of my friends have heard me say “fortune favors the bold.” This quote, attributed to Virgil’s Aeneid, has been my response to many stupid challenges, from killing bottles of bourbon, going all-in on games of poker, or trying to write my honors thesis on senior year’s spring break. Even more ridiculous is the fact that I’ve never read any of Virgil’s work. I just saw the quote on the internet and started using it like the little shit that I am. Below is a great story of its use.
(Although unfamiliar with Virgil, I am well-versed in Homer. 20th Century Fox, 1989)
My yuk (sophomore) year at West Point, everybody had to take two semesters of physics. I did well the first semester, as it was basically calculus with word problems. On the other hand, second semester was an acid trip. It had to do with waves, light, and electromagnetic bullshit that I really don’t understand. The course was mandatory, however, and we had no say in the matter. To quote Mick Jagger, “you can’t always get what you want.”
The course’s capstone project required groups of four or five to plan a renewable energy project. It was for some big city in Arizona that I don’t remember. The prompt provided information about the capabilities and costs of both solar and wind, as well as population-growth information. We had to figure out how big of a solar or wind farm was needed to meet growing demand over the next 30 years. We also had to find a space large enough to build it and plan a power line system. Making this matter more complicated is the resistance in electrical wires. The farther away the power source, the more energy we needed to create. Figuring it out with pen and paper was a real pain in the ass.
Luckily, we had a physics major in our group. We soon found out how many square feet of solar panels, or how many wind turbines, our project required. It was astronomical, costing by our estimate (if memory serves) well over 400 million dollars for either choice. Building the power lines greatly increased the cost of the project, and the amount we needed to charge per kilowatt hour of electricity was ridiculous. We felt like idiotic bureaucrats, and as future Army officers, that wasn’t far from the truth.
Then our physics major brought up an idea: geothermal. It was a renewable energy source; it didn’t require a massive footprint; and it wasn’t subject to the weather. Yes please. We researched geothermal power plants of the required scale and studied geothermal hot spots in the area. To our delight, there was a big hotspot just outside the city. We could provide all the necessary power, and more, for 30 years of estimated population growth. The project was relatively cheap, too. If I remember correctly, it cost about 85 percent less than a solar or wind farm would. We had our winner.
We hashed out the details, wrote up our plan, and rehearsed the presentation. On the big day, we spoke like experts, being sure to describe the cost differences between solar, wind, and geothermal. At the end, we smugly asked if there were any questions. We had anticipated many, but we did NOT expect the first one. It came from our professor, an Army Major who appreciated discipline. I don’t recall his response word for word, but this is pretty close:
“So…the project prompt explicitly states that you will analyze the costs and benefits of both solar and wind, choose what you think is the better option, and present your findings. Instead, you choose to not follow instructions, picking an energy source outside your scope, without so much as asking approval, and have the gall to present this to both me and your class anyway. What do you have to say for yourselves?”
I was floored. This is what happens when you don’t read the instructions thoroughly. The air was so tense that we were physically choking, and we had officially lost control of the presentation. But when backed in to a corner, the only way out is to double-down and fight through. Without skipping a beat, I shot back confidently:
“Fortune favors the bold, sir.”
When you pull a reply out of your ass, don’t be surprised if the result is shit. Sometimes, however, you strike gold. You won’t know until you get a response. My group members just stared at me. The class kept looking back from me to our professor. The professor just stared at me, trying to process my reply. After an agonizing silence, he chuckled:
“Good response.”
He then proceeded to ask very detailed questions about our project. He actually knew a lot about geothermal, and was even familiar with the land we proposed using. We were all a bit shaken by his initial reply, but managed to stay cool and answer to the best of our knowledge. After finishing the Q/A, we thanked the class and our professor, and took our seats for the next group. A few days later, we got our grade: A-. Not bad.
Sometimes we make mistakes. Not following instructions in this professor’s course was a big mistake (the project mentioned was worth a big chunk of our grade that semester). But sometimes one must be bold and just talk out of their ass. Military officers do it every day.
Thanks for reading. Now get off the toilet.
The Poop Scoop 