15 May 2022

Mental wealth (short story)

Earlier this week, I had received a call from my bank. They wanted me to come in, there were some urgent matters that required my attention and needed to be resolved. They said that it had to do with the performance of my portfolio, but wanted to discuss it in person.

The very next day, I visited the bank's headquarters, anxious about what was awaiting me. After a short wait, the financial analyst arrived and lead me to the examination room. He offered me a chair and sat down in front of me. Then, he placed the cuff of the blood pressure monitor around my arm and started to inflate it. He shook his head as he took the readings. "Your portfolio has dropped in value again.", he said nonchalantly. "Also, unfortunately, everyone who you invested trust in has filed for moral bankruptcy." He then typed something into his Telex Machine. He looked energetic and dead inside at the same time. Like a zombie who had become enamoured with his own stench; fully embracing the fact that he is rotten to the core. "Also, you are ugly and worthless.", he continued. Wait, did he really say that? His lips didn't move, his attention remained fully dedicated to the green terminal. Seemingly satisfied with his data entry, the man hit the last key with an elegant and forceful keystroke, pushed himself away from the desk and rolled back to me on his office chair. The chair seemed to move without friction, yet the rollers squeaked painfully loudly. He stopped his chair right in front of me, but the squeaky, high pitched noise did not subside. I felt sick. He looked at me and waved his hands in front of my face "Hello? I've seen worse. We can reverse that trend, I have no doubts about it." This is the face of a man who doesn't care whether there are reasons to doubt what he says. I struggled to find words, the squeaky rollers of the office chair were still terrorizing me. "What will be the next steps?" My lips felt dry.

"I prescribe bi-weekly, high intensity exercise. Here, take this brochure. I highly recommend the mental gymnastics sessions." He pointed at a picture of a man who seemed to sit on a chair and sweat profusely. I wondered whether "bi-weekly" meant twice a week or every two weeks, but he continued already. "In addition to that, the blood work indicates that you are deficient in gold, lithium and other precious metals. Your finances are in need of diversification, unlike your thoughts. This is why I already worked out everything you need to do from here on out." All of this was way over my head, I had no clue about the intricacies of modern financial markets. Good thing we have experts on these matters, I would certainly be lost without them. "Let's do it, then." I mumbled. "Oh, I almost forgot.", he continued. "Lastly, selective serotonin reuptake inhibitors will hedge your life expectations against inflation. They help you be less like you and more like me. I also put them on your prescription." The man truly thought of everything. I was grateful.

A few minutes later, I left the bank. Finally, I got my things in order. I was finally regaining control of my mental wealth.