The Economy of Personal Kindness

Hector Abel opened his eyes at 11:23am on a bright Tuesday in June. The chill of spring had finally relented to the gentle warmth of early summer. Sunrises in South Carolina were most beautiful this time of year. Over the course of its slow ascent over the land, the sun drew in all the colors of the ocean and cast them haphazardly into the morning sky. All the tiny flower buds and shivering creatures breathed a sigh of relief as they stretched out to receive the first wave of warmth from the sun. Sunrises here were lovely sights to behold, and Hector slept through every single one.

Today, he rolled over from his pillow and clattered his fingers through the mess on the nightstand in search of his glasses. Fastening them on his face with a yawn, Hector glanced over at the clock and nearly choked on his own tongue. 11:23? Hector lay frozen, mouth open, breathing heavily at the numbers on the clock, and willing with all his might for the hands to retreat back to a more suitable time. The second hand plodded ever onward, though, and the minute hand followed sluggishly behind. Groaning in defeat, Hector kicked his sheets off and wriggled out of bed. He ran frantically into the bathroom and turned the shower on, only to mutter a string of expletives and turn it off again. There was no time for a shower. He turned instead, to the sink and splashed cold water on his face, then into his mouth. He rubbed his wet hands through his hair and under his armpits. "That's as clean as I'm getting," he thought. He procured from under his bed, a pair of jeans with a belt still hanging off the loops. He pulled them on and tugged to fasten the button, but tug as he might, the brass button just wouldn't reach the hole.

"God. Dammit!" Hector shouted. "I just wore these a week ago! What the hell?" But there was no time to spare for frustration about weight gain, so Hector left the button undone and pulled his belt around instead. Then, grabbing his shoulder bag and keys he bounded out of his room, neglecting to lock the door behind him.

The trek to Fauster Hall was at least a quarter of a mile, and most of it was uphill. Usually Hector would walk on the sidewalk around the large hill behind Fauster Hall, reasoning that the longer distance was good for his health. But he did so mostly because he didn't want others to see him get out of breath, especially not Francie when they walked together. Today, however, for the sake of time, Hector ran directly up the hill. He set out with great gusto but several seconds running uphill slowed him considerably. He was red faced and huffing by the time he climbed halfway up, so he paused every few seconds before continuing his weary trod. On one of his momentary pauses, Hector heard the thudding of feet behind him. He turned to see a flurry of red shorts and white jerseys with bold blue lettering on them. Statman University Track and Field, they read. As they moved closer, Hector could see large sideburns and even a few mustaches on sculpted, sweaty faces. He thought of trying to outrun them, but decided against the likely humiliation. Instead, he stood bent over with his hands on his thighs watching them approach.

"Get outta the way dumbass!" one of the sideburns shouted. Hector shuffled to the side, just in time for the group to thunder past him.

"Hey whatsa matter, Hector? Can't get up?" someone asked.

"Looks like Big Abel ain't so able!" another someone laughed.

"That's what his girl says too!" a final voice jeered as the whole group moved out of earshot past Fauster Hall. Hector stuck his middle finger out to their backs and shoved it up to the sky in defiance.

"Running up and down hills for no reason like mindless animals. What a bunch of dicks," Hector muttered at no one in particular, before resuming his gentle jog up to his classroom.

Hector huffed through the corridors of Fauster Hall and leaned against the wall next to his classroom to catch his breath. Hector wiped the sweat from his forehead and braced himself before turning the doorknob. The door jerked open before Hector could peep his head inside and Professor Hamill stood scowling at him. He shook his head and handed Hector a thick set of papers.

"Late, as is custom. No extra time will be given Mr. Abel."

Hector nodded and took a seat in the back row of the class. He smiled sheepishly at a brown haired girl seated next to him, but she didn't return the social niceties. She instead turned away slightly and put the back of her hand against her nose. Hector couldn't blame her. He hadn't brushed, showered or changed his undergarments since day before yesterday. There was no time to fixate on her discomfort though; he was already 45 minutes late.

Question 1- Derivation

Refer to the above aggregate production function. If, in a given year, output grows by 4%, capital grows by 3.23%, and labor grows by 1.2%, derive the productivity growth rate.

Hector grunted in approval. He read about this a few semesters ago and vaguely recalled Professor Hamill discussing it last month. Hastily scribbling down his answer, he moved on to the next question.

Question 2- Short Essay

Assume no population growth in an economy with a high supply of labor, but low supply of physical capital. What are the economic implications of such an imbalance according to the Harrod-Domar model? What remedial steps must be taken to increase stable growth?

Hector groaned. He remembered this lesson. Hamill went over it on February 3rd. Hector had arrived half an hour early to class that day, disoriented, and reeking of weed and cheap liquor. That was the day after Francie told him she was pregnant and getting rid of the baby. Hector tried his best to recall Hamill's lecture on derivation, but all he could recall was Francie's merry laugh as she told him the news.

"It must have happened that night we stayed at Jerry's after the party," she giggled. "Remember that little episode we had behind the hot tub?"

Hector nodded. How could he forget?

"Nine weeks. Wow. How do you know that?"

"Doctor told me," Francie said, lighting up a cigarette.

"If you're pregnant you probably shouldn't smoke."

Francie laughed and tickled Hector under his chin.

"Hector you're such a goof. Didn't you hear me? I'm getting rid of it." She took a long drag of her cigarette and let out a trail of white smoke through her cherry-red lips.

"Still," Hector insisted, "what if you change your mind? I wouldn't mind, you know, if you decided to keep it. We could make it work.”

Francie leaned back on the sofa and lifted her shirt. "Wanna see? Doctor said it was right….there," she said, placing Hector's fingers a few inches below her belly button. "Feel anything?"

Hector smiled at Francie, "Not really."

"Hmm. Well good. I don't want any stretch marks. It's a nice thought, Hector, but kids are so limiting for a woman. Anyways, marriage is just an institution created by men to keep women suppressed. You know I don't subscribe to it."

Hector nodded, "I know, I just wanted you to know you had other options. Hey, I think I can feel something here," he said prodding into her belly. Francie pushed his hand away.

"That's my bladder, idiot. I need to take a piss."

"Sorry." Hector offered, and removed his hand. "So, did the doctor take a scan or something?"

"No."

"Then how did he figure it was 9 weeks?"

Francie rolled her eyes, "Christ, Hector. What does it matter? I don't know, I gave a urine sample. Then he asked a bunch of questions about my period and took my vitals. Listen, I gotta go. I promised Lisa I'd meet her for dinner."

Francie ground what was left of her cigarette into the metal frame of the sofa, watching the gray ash float gently to the ground. She handed the cigarette butt to Hector and waved goodbye. Hector waved back, but said nothing. Later that night, he sat with a calendar and counted back nine weeks. Jerry's party was December 19th--ten and half weeks ago.

Hector shook his head to clear his thoughts of Francie. He moved on to the next question.

Question 3- Short Answer

Submit your analysis of contractionary monetary policy for the following cases utilizing a short-run analysis.

Hector had skipped the lesson on contractionary monetary policy entirely. A week after his conversation with Francie, Hector had skipped class and headed towards the library. Dave Howell would be there. He always was. Dave Howell was a medical student at Statman School of Medicine. He sat in the library every day from 8:00 am till 1:30 pm from Monday to Friday regardless of whether he had any work to do or not. He was a promising student, well on his way to a residency offer from the North Carolina University Hospital. Dave also worked part time in a Pharmacy, where he forged prescription refills of Adderall, pain relievers and mild hallucinogens for his fellow college students. Every trustworthy student at Statman University (Hector included) knew when and where to find Dave Howell.

That day, Hector found Dave perched faithfully at the desk he sat at every day, prematurely wizened and bespectacled from hours of hunched reading.

"Hello Hector. You're back earlier than expected. I hope you remember there's a 30 day interim period for prescription refills."

"Yeah, I know," Hector said, heaving himself on the chair next to Dave. "I'm here to ask you a question about something else, though."

Dave looked up from his book lazily, "Oh?"

"Yeah. It's a question about women…and pregnancy."

Dave chuckled demurely. "Trust me Hector, there are better resources than me on the subject of women. As far as impregnating them, I've had minimal experience."

"Keep it down Dave, Jesus!" Hector hissed. "It's a medical question. My girlfriend came back from the doctor last week and said she was nine weeks pregnant. But we did it eleven and a half weeks ago. That's okay right?"

"Okay, meaning…?"

"I mean, those numbers add up right? Does it take a week and a half for someone to get pregnant after sex?"

Dave eyed Hector for a moment, with no hint of expression, till he clicked his tongue and put his book down entirely.

"Hector," he began, "there's no definitive date that doctors can pin down for the time of conception. There are too many factors to take into consideration, such as late or early ovulation, multiple instances of intercourse, or even the speed at which a sperm travels towards the egg. Doctors only give a general timeline. In my understanding, doctors give an estimated fetal age based on the woman's most recent menstrual cycle."

"Alright then," Hector persisted, "If a girl was nine weeks pregnant last Tuesday, when is the approximate date of intercourse?"

Dave sighed wearily and took out his monthly planner from his breast pocket. "I'll humor you just this once, Hector, but I don't like being dragged into personal matters. Alright, if she was told she was 9 weeks last week, that would mean her last menstrual cycle was around December 30th. This implies that the approximate time of intercourse was sometime between January 4th to 11th."

During winter break. Hector's stomach churned slowly to a halt and, for a moment, he could feel the remnants of his breakfast turn into a weighted ball in his belly. Dave looked at Hector's pallid expression and cleared his throat.

"Of course," Dave said, scratching his head, "that’s under the assumption that the doctor allowed those two extra weeks. It also doesn't take into consideration that she might have a longer ovulation cycle, which could skew the dates by a week or two.

Hector was silent, counting days on his fingers. "So, it's possible she could’ve gotten pregnant in mid to late December?"

"Many things are possible. As I said before, medicine hasn’t yet advanced to the point of determining precise dates of conception."

Hector nodded but, again, was silent. Dave shifted in his seat uncomfortably. "Well Hector, if congratulations are in order, I offer you my heartiest well wishes." He offered his hand out to Hector, who waved it away.

"Nah," Hector said, "she's getting rid of it. Thanks though, Dave."

Hector blinked himself awake. He scrawled out a half-assed answer, and in his haste, wrote 'pregnant' instead of 'price'. He cursed to himself as he scribbled over his error. The brown haired girl next to him, doubly offended by the foulness of Hector's mouth as well as his body odor, turned away from him dramatically.

Questions 4-6- Elasticity

When the price rises by 5%, the demanded quantity reduces by 2%. Calculate the price elasticity of demand. Refer to the chart below.

Hector sighed in relief. He didn't even need a lesson from Hamill to know these calculations. He had sat with his father through countless company meetings as the board discussed income/price inflation and elasticity. This past spring break, his father called him into his office after a meeting.

"Come and give me a hand with these numbers, Hector." Hector trudged behind his father. He knew what was coming. Hector's father stood nearly half a head taller than him. He had a lean, trim figure and combed, oiled hair. At Hector's age, he had been an athletic, affable young man, who was well liked by most. He disapproved of Hector's unruly mop of hair, baggy clothes and general slothfulness. As he turned to sit at his desk, he looked Hector up and down and shook his head. "You know, at your age, you should really be dressing neatly when you come into the company, Hector. You're not a kid anymore, and you want to make sure that people respect you when you start working here. I know you don't like it, but I bet you just need to get used to it. Trousers and a nice shirt would probably make you look thinner, too."

Hector nodded his head. He sat facing his father, and took up the quarterly review book. "Which numbers should I be looking at, dad?"

"Just those there. Thanks Hector." Hector picked up a pencil and went to work. This was what he was good at. The only thing he could do that met his family's expectations. You can't find fault in numbers--they're numbers. You can't pin personal expectations on them. They just are what they are. Hector could feel his father watching him nervously. Mr. Abel cleared his throat.

"So how's the semester going?"

"Pretty good."

"Good. Good," his father paused. "How's Francie?"

Hector didn't look up. He had tried to end things with Francie just before coming home. She threw a fit and said she had changed her mind. She was keeping the baby.

"She's doing well. She's visiting her cousin up in Virginia over break."

"Good for her!" his father smiled. "She's such a nice girl. You should bring her over to visit again."

Hector nodded without looking up. "I'll ask her."

"You know Hector, you must really be doing something right to get a girl like Francie. She's smart, kind and respectful." His father chuckled, "she could probably charm a snake out of a bag! It's hard to find a girl like that these days. You won't know how much a good wife is worth right now, but when you settle down and have a family, that's when it will make all the difference. I know that when I married your mother, I thought I appreciated her, but after you were born, that's when I realized how valuable she really was."

Hector was almost sure the baby wasn't his, but he couldn't be 100% sure. All he knew was that Francie would tell everyone it was his and they'd believe her. So he took her back and apologized. He pondered now, whether he also would gain the same appreciation for Francie that his father had for his mother. He wondered whether the baby's paternity would impact that appreciation.

Hector didn't say anything, and just rubbed the back of his head. His father looked disappointed but didn't push it further. They sat in silence until the numbers were completed. When he finished, Hector handed the report back to his father and mumbled something about not feeling very well. His father had offered him a ride home, which Hector declined, saying that he preferred walking in fresh air. Hector had spent the rest of the day drinking beer and eating junk food by the creek.

Hector rubbed the back of his head again. It didn't hurt anymore. He looked down at the exam and willed himself to continue. He almost whooped with joy when he turned the page. The rest of the test was multiple choice. The gods of statistics would grant him at least an additional 20%. Probably enough to pass.

Hector was the last in line to hand in his exam. Professor Hamill leered at Hector through his oval spectacles.

"What can I expect from this final exam Hector?"

"Um. Hopefully a passing grade."

"Ah, a passing grade. Well, given your track record, my guess is that you'll pass, barely, with a low C. Is that what you want?"

Professor Hamill shook his head and seemed to be contemplating his words, "Hector, you're very obviously intelligent. From what I've seen of you, you put in far less effort to pass than your classmates. But the problem is, you are hellbent on achieving the least passable grade possible. You won't deliver an ounce more effort than required to be average. Goodness knows that if you did, you'd be one of Statman's best."

Hector said nothing. He'd heard this all before from about a dozen educators.

Professor Hamill continued cautiously. "I…get the feeling that perhaps you've had a hard semester. Personally speaking. Now, whatever you're going through, I want you to know two things. One, that it will pass. Two, that you have resources to help you until it does."

Hector wasn't expecting this. He expected the usual lecture about hard work and dedication, and putting your mind to an achieving your best. He tried his best to remain unresponsive, but he could feel his ears redden.

"You don't have to tell me anything Hector, or anyone, for that matter. But Statman University does offer counseling sessions if you need them. I utilize them myself, so can vouch for their effectivity. They are in the same building as the Bursar's Office."

Professor Hamill smiled at him and waved his hands toward the door. "Oh, and Hector, I hope that the next time you dabble in some light Economic theory, you'll choose my next course. I look forward to seeing how high you fly when you are kinder to yourself. After all, that is the greatest success any of us may hope for."

Hector nodded and muttered an awkward thank you and rushed out the door. He walked as calmly as he could towards his dorm room. The June wind suddenly felt chilly. His eyes were suddenly itchy. His slow, heavy steps soon became faster until he was trotting toward his room. He thanked all that was holy that it was downhill. He felt like the itching in his eyes had burrowed into his throat and chest. All he wanted to do was scratch it out. He ran up the stairwell, and burst through his door, slamming it behind him.

He stood there in his familiar room, breathing heavily for a few moments. He felt a twinge of embarrassment at the fuss he had made, but the itching feeling was still there. He looked at the mirror on the back of the door and shocked himself. His eyes were red. Jesus! Had he seriously been crying? "You stupid shit," he thought angrily, wiping his eyes. Suddenly he threw his keys across the room and shouted at the puffy face in the mirror. "You stupid, fat fuck!" What the hell are you even crying about?"

He tore off his shirt, and unbuckled his belt, letting his unbuttoned pants fall to the floor. He looked at his round body, and knocked knees. “Disgusting,” he thought to himself. The scratches on his upper arms weren't even what made it ugly. The bruises on his back, where she had hit him with the spatula weren't even that bad compared to his unsightly fat rolls. Even the tiny burn marks on his chest, where she'd put out her cigarettes after sex weren't noticeable. Not compared to his hanging, hairy breasts. Nothing she did was ugly. Only he was. He was lucky to even have her.

Hector walked listlessly to the shower and turned it on. He stood under the warm water, and let himself cry. Francie hadn’t always done this. She started off by playfully hitting his arm when he reached for her. But it got worse, until she slapped him during a fight. She had apologized and cried, and kissed him. She called him her beautiful, big man, and stripped her clothes off, pulling him into bed. She held him so sweetly, that he forgot the sting on his cheek. He couldn’t even remember when exactly she started putting out her cigarettes on him. She had asked him if he could even feel it, with all the fat he had, and laughed happily at his discomfort, telling him it was her kink. He hated it so much. He hated it almost more than he hated himself.

Hector got out of the shower and wrapped himself up in his blanket. It was dirty, and hadn’t been washed in months. He threw it on the floor in disgust and tore off all the sheets on his bed. He lay down on the bare mattress and thought about yesterday. Francie said she was keeping the baby, but he knew that she had already had an abortion. He saw the pill bottle on her nightstand the last time he went to her place.

Hector was furious at first, and stormed out of her apartment in a rage. He had found Dave Howell and smoked himself silly. But now that he thought about it, relief flooded through him like clean water. He could almost feel ripples of relief from his brain to his toes, and he suddenly felt the bruises sting a bit more acutely.

Hector sat up again and realized he was naked. He went to his dresser and fished out some clean clothes. He ran his fingers through his damp hair went to the sink to brush his teeth. He shoved his feet in his shoes, and stopped himself. “I should wear socks,” he thought to himself. His alarm clock read 2:45. Only an hour and fifteen minutes until the Bursar’s building closed. Better get going. It’s a long way away.