Tag Archives: parables

Ten men go out for beer: A lesson in the economics of taxation.

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Spotted this, of all places, on Polish Business News. It is a simple parable that uses beer to illustrate how taxes in the U.S. are distributed and the effects of tax breaks.

Suppose that every day, ten men go out for beer and the bill for all ten comes to $100. If they paid their bill the way we pay our taxes, it would go something like this:

The first four men (the poorest) would pay nothing.
The fifth would pay $1.
The sixth would pay $3.
The seventh would pay $7.
The eighth would pay $12.
The ninth would pay $18.
The tenth man (the richest) would pay $59.

Then the proprietor reduces their beer bill by $20, and the article goes on to explain why the richest man got (and deserves) the largest windfall.

Philosophy of Life

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You may have heard a version of this used as a spiritual illustration, but this may just possibly be closer to reality…

A philosophy professor stood before his class and had some items in front of him. When the class began, wordlessly he picked up a very large and empty mayonnaise jar and proceeded to fill it with rocks that were about 2 inches in diameter.

He then asked the students if the jar was full. They agreed that it was.

So the professor then picked up a box of pebbles and poured them into the jar. He shook the jar lightly. The pebbles, of course, rolled into the open areas between the rocks.

He then asked the students again if the jar was full. They agreed it was.

The professor picked up a box of sand and poured it into the jar. Of course, the sand filled up everything else.

He then asked once more if the jar was full. This time the students were sure and they responded with a unanimous “YES!”

The professor then produced two cans of beer from under the table and proceeded to pour their entire contents into the jar — effectively filling the empty space between the sand. The students laughed.

“Now,” said the professor, as the laughter subsided. “I want you to recognize that this jar represents your life. The rocks are the important things—your family, your partner, your health, your children—things that, if everything else was lost and only they remained, your life would still be full. The pebbles are the other things that matter like your job, your house, your car. The sand is everything else. The small stuff.

“If you put the sand into the jar first,” he continued, “there is no room for the pebbles or the rocks. The same goes for your life. If you spend all your time and energy on the small stuff, you will never have room for the things that are important to you.

“Pay attention to the things that are critical to your happiness. Play with your children. Take time to get medical checkups. Take your partner out dancing. There will always be time to go to work, clean the house, give a dinner party and fix the disposal.

“Take care of the rocks first — the things that really matter. Set your priorities. The rest is just sand.”

One of the students raised her hand and inquired what the beer represented.

The professor smiled. “I’m glad you asked. It just goes to show you that no matter how full your life may seem, there’s always room for a couple of beers.”

(Found at SwapMeetDave, among other places.)

Beer is a journey, not a destination

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“Life is a journey, not a destination.”

Ah, that old cliché.

It occurred to me recently that this sentiment could be applied to more than just life.

Beer, for instance.

In my youth, beer was about the destination: Getting hammered.

Preferably in the shortest and most economical way possible.

But only with beer. Cheap wine was for winos. Wine coolers were for women. Distilled spirits were for people who had drinking problems. Beer was manly.

The final decision was how to balance the cost/taste ratio. Certain beers, in spite of their more economical prices, I felt were beneath me. That they were for more desperate, less responsible people.

Miller Genuine Draft was the swill of choice back in the day. A unique black and gold label, a series of advertising campaigns that appealed to young men not unlike me, and regular specials at the local liquor store.

Something happened between then and now. Working for a living gave me more discretionary income, and a lack of friends in college reduced the need for alcohol in substantial volumes. I began to experiment with some of those more expensive beers. Hey, I was worth it. Samuel Adams Boston Lager (or maybe it was the ale) was starting to make noise in the marketplace. To top it off, my friend Ron started brewing his own beer.

You could do that?!

I started reading more about beer, learning about the styles that had pretty much disappeared in the US because of Prohibition. Microbrewers were springing up all over. I even fooled around with brewing my own.

Fresh beer is the best beer.

Beer now was no longer a means to an end. It was the end. I found that a good beer was simple enjoyment in itself. The color, the aroma, the feel of it in my mouth, the flavor and where it centered on my tongue were now things that I noticed and enjoyed. (Unless it’s bad beer, then it’s not enjoyable at all.)

How I have changed. I almost always drink beer from a glass. (You can’t get the full aroma while you’re drinking it, otherwise.) My beer glasses are used only for drinking beer, and they’re washed by hand. (There’s “clean” and then there’s “beer clean.”) A six-pack can last me for a week or more. (I remember the days when a six-pack might not last me an hour.)

Am I old? Would the younger me have no frickin’ idea what the now me was going on about? Probably. But it doesn’t matter.

Drinking a beer is a journey to be savored. Reaching the bottom of the glass is always something of a disappointment.

If you’ll excuse me, I’m thirsty.