Teddy Wayne - Kapitoil

“Ready for your costume, high roller?” he asks as he takes my money. He gives me a plastic bag. Inside is a wrench. Despite my skills with computers, I am inefficient with the repair of physical objects. My father is much better in this department. He tried to teach me many times when I was young, but I was never good at it and he always became frustrated, so finally he stopped.

“Do I say I am a wrench or a tool?” I ask.

Dan’s laughter always sounds like he exclusively understands what is humorous about a situation. “Whatever you want. But I suggest saying you’re a mechanic.”

When Dan is in the restroom, Jefferson says, “A ‘tool’ is someone who gets used by others.” He lowers his volume. “Dan’s a good kid, but a little immature. And with a narrow worldview.” He shakes his head. “Sometimes I think he’s just in this for the money.”

To reroute the subject, I tell him I like his costume and ask if he has visited Japan. “I did my junior year abroad in Tokyo,” he says. “And I backpacked through Southeast Asia in ’97, just when the financial crisis hit.”

We discuss the Asian Financial Crisis in more depth. Jefferson has a broad knowledge base and I learn some new facts, e.g., because Japan was the world’s largest holder of currency reserves at the time, the yen remained stable, but after the crisis, when Japanese manufacturers couldn’t compete with cheaper rival countries, the GDP real growth rate in fact fell into recession in 1998.

“They’ve bounced back, though. One thing those people know, it’s how to safely weaken their currency and create a current account surplus.” Then he says, “And produce fine women who think all white guys are goddamn Vikings. Even the runts.” I believe this is a joke but I am not 100 % certain, and therefore I produce the same laugh without lungs he used before, but he is serious and returns to reading Wired .

When Dan comes back, we drink more beers and watch a movie about a man with long hair who likes to bowl, and Dan and Jefferson state much of the conversation simultaneously with the actors. Before we leave, Dan gives me the burned CD and writes on it: “To: Karim the Dream, FROM: DAN.” I still feel nefarious about accepting it, but it’s a gift and Dan is trying to be more friendly, and possibly that compensates for the theft.

When we exit the building, Dan waits until no one else is around, then whispers to his doorman and transfers our three pieces of paper and some money to him.

Many men pass us in clusters as we walk south on 7th Ave. Although it’s cold, their costumes are low on material and emphasize their muscles. “You have a lot of gays in your country?” Jefferson asks.

“No,” I say. “Homosexuals can be imprisoned for five years and whipped.”

“Do they even consider that a punishment?” Dan asks.

“Don’t be a homophobe,” Jefferson says. “You’re not in redneck country.”

The party is in an apartment building that just one person lives in. We take an elevator up three floors, and before the doors open we can hear the music and people talking and feel the temperature rise.

The elevator doors open directly to a large room bottlenecked with men like the ones we saw on the street.

“What the hell, Dan?” Jefferson says.

“I swear to God I didn’t think it would be like this,” Dan says.

“‘Just because it’s a Halloween party in Chelsea doesn’t mean it’s gay,’” Jefferson says in a voice imitating what Dan must have said to him previously.

“Look at it from the other side,” Dan says. “The women here are probably desperate.”

Jefferson rubs his eyebrows like he does at the end of the workday. Small pieces of dead white skin fall. “I can’t believe we turned down the party at Pagan for this. All because you didn’t want to pay a $75 cover, you cheap-ass Jew.”

The elevator doors merge as we remain contained. “Well, it’s too late now, and the only other big party we know about is on the Upper East Side, and cabs are scarce tonight,” Dan says as he presses the “Door Open” button. “Let’s try it out for a few minutes.” Jefferson tells Dan that he owes him, and I follow them into the party.

Dan produces drinks for us at a table, but because they’re disputing with each other I don’t request a healthy beverage like orange or cranberry juice, so he makes me a Coke and vodka.

We stand near the drinks and observe the party. There are a few females, and some of them link their eyes with Jefferson’s.

“See?” Dan says. “It’s just a matter of finding the untapped market. We should’ve been doing this years ago.”

As I consume my second drink, someone contacts my shoulder. Rebecca stands behind me in a coat. A white dress of satin material descends under it to a few inches above her knees. It is the first time I’ve seen her wear a dress. She opens her coat slightly and I see Post-its on the material that display “OEDIPUS COMPLEX,” “SUPEREGO,” and “ID.” She also reveals her upper arms and shoulders, which are pale and shaped like lightbulbs.

“It’s a Freudian slip.” She closes her coat. “It’s idiotic and a cliché, but I didn’t have anything else. What are you?”

I hold up my wrench. “I am a mechanic.”

Then she says hello to Dan and Jefferson. Before I can ask how she is enjoying work, Dan says, “You guys want to play pool?” and he points to a black billiards table.

Rebecca says, “I don’t really play, but—”

“Perfect,” Dan says. “Cutthroat’s better than two on two.”

He defines the rules, the central one of which is to pocket your competitors’ balls while protecting your own. Dan says, “What do you say we put a little money on this, just to make it interesting?”

Jefferson doesn’t want to at first, but Dan says, “Money won is twice as sweet as money earned,” and they agree to betting $20 each, which I don’t want to do either, as I know I’ll lose, but they also provided me with alcohol earlier and invited me to this party, so it’s parallel to owing them $20.

Rebecca watches us play, and Dan and Jefferson begin by pocketing some balls of each other and ignoring mine, which is logical because I’m an unthreatening novice.

On my first turn to strike the white ball, I miss 100 %. Dan says to Rebecca, “You want to get behind him and show him how it’s done?” Rebecca doesn’t say anything, but Jefferson stands next to me and demonstrates proper technique. They allow me to strike again, and I hit the white ball but it doesn’t contact anything else.

I watch Dan and Jefferson shoot and practice my striking motion. Dan strikes like a puncher, fast and with quick oscillations, and Jefferson does one long withdrawal and launch like he is shooting a bow and arrow. When it’s my turn, I aim like a sniper at the ball and produce solid contact, and it knocks in one of Jefferson’s balls.

But now I’m in poor position to make another shot, and I realize that a smart pool player has a 1,000-mile view of not only (1)where the ball he is striking will go, but also (2)where the white ball will end up after, similar to how a chess player must think several turns ahead. This is why computer chess programs are now better than the best human players (and why a strategic and accurate robotic pool player would beat the best human player, because pool also denies the accident), because they can make infinite predictions that humans cannot, and this is why I believe Kapitoil is superior to human financial analysts. Although it is true that chess programs are not robust at endgame strategies, because there are too many variables that humans can in fact filter more efficiently. Therefore, chess programs have maximal databases of all possible endgame strategies and positions. They follow these databases mechanically and don’t utilize their conventional artificial intelligence.