Rain Man
08-07-2015, 09:30 AM
Here's the situation:
It's the 18th of July, on a hot and muggy summer night. A carnival is in town, and since your favorite bar at Applebee's is currently closed down for serving drinks to a minor, you decide to go.
Ahh, the lights, the funnel cake smells, the calliope music. You walk around with your significant other, enjoying all it has to offer. (If you don't have a significant other, you may insert Danica McKellar into this role for the purposes of this scenario.)
And then you see it.
The Midway. Barkers call players to games. Baseballs are thrown, hoops are tossed, weights are guessed. Like a moth to a flame, you're drawn to a game where bowling pins are set up all over the back of a booth. The more pins you knock down, the bigger your prize.
You plunk down your ten dollars and get three balls. With your significant other (or Danica McKellar) at your side, you decide to leave it all on the field. You take a mighty windup with the first ball, and miss the booth entirely. A baseball bounces out into a field behind the booth. How embarrassing.
The second ball is better. It stays in the field of play, and it knocks down two pins that are obviously weighted at the bottom. You win a small stuffed squirrel with a frightening countenance and a body full of toxic Chinese fiberglass insulation.
You then throw the third ball. At that precise moment, a 5.3 earthquake strikes. The ferris wheel riders scream, the carnies duck for cover, and you hang on to the counter. By the time the earth stops moving, you're all standing there as the ball hits the ground. Every pin in the entire booth is knocked down.
The ball guy slowly arises from his hiding spot under the counter, looks around in amazement, then looks at you.
"All of the pins are down," he says. "You win the grand prize."
"What's the grand prize?", you ask.
"I don't know. No one's ever won."
After a flurry of calls to Carnie headquarters (located just north of Cincinnati, Ohio), it is discovered that no one has won the grand prize since 1937, when wealthy Yale alumni Clancy Devereaux bought the carnival to support his master's thesis, "The economics and demographics of freak show attendance". Clancy was proud of his school, so the grand prize was set as a four-year full-ride scholarship to Yale.
Stunned carnival executives consult with their attorney, but your case is ironclad. You have won a full ride to Yale University, including room and board, with an estimated value of $253,000 in 2015.
So your decision now is whether to take the scholarship and attend, and if so, select a major. The rules are as follows:
1. You can pursue the degree at any point in your life. You do not have to take it now.
2. The prize is not transferable in any way, and cannot be sold or substituted for cash. You attend Yale or you walk away with the insulation-stuffed squirrel.
3. The prize will allow you to obtain a bachelor's degree only.
4. Everything in your current life applies: your age, your academic skills, your current degree(s) if any, your location, your marital status, etc. You are you.
The accompanying poll contains an abbreviated list of Yale degree programs. (There's actually about 70, so I eliminated the interdisciplinary combo degrees and some other random ones. If you're a Yale professor and I eliminated your program, I apologize.)
It's the 18th of July, on a hot and muggy summer night. A carnival is in town, and since your favorite bar at Applebee's is currently closed down for serving drinks to a minor, you decide to go.
Ahh, the lights, the funnel cake smells, the calliope music. You walk around with your significant other, enjoying all it has to offer. (If you don't have a significant other, you may insert Danica McKellar into this role for the purposes of this scenario.)
And then you see it.
The Midway. Barkers call players to games. Baseballs are thrown, hoops are tossed, weights are guessed. Like a moth to a flame, you're drawn to a game where bowling pins are set up all over the back of a booth. The more pins you knock down, the bigger your prize.
You plunk down your ten dollars and get three balls. With your significant other (or Danica McKellar) at your side, you decide to leave it all on the field. You take a mighty windup with the first ball, and miss the booth entirely. A baseball bounces out into a field behind the booth. How embarrassing.
The second ball is better. It stays in the field of play, and it knocks down two pins that are obviously weighted at the bottom. You win a small stuffed squirrel with a frightening countenance and a body full of toxic Chinese fiberglass insulation.
You then throw the third ball. At that precise moment, a 5.3 earthquake strikes. The ferris wheel riders scream, the carnies duck for cover, and you hang on to the counter. By the time the earth stops moving, you're all standing there as the ball hits the ground. Every pin in the entire booth is knocked down.
The ball guy slowly arises from his hiding spot under the counter, looks around in amazement, then looks at you.
"All of the pins are down," he says. "You win the grand prize."
"What's the grand prize?", you ask.
"I don't know. No one's ever won."
After a flurry of calls to Carnie headquarters (located just north of Cincinnati, Ohio), it is discovered that no one has won the grand prize since 1937, when wealthy Yale alumni Clancy Devereaux bought the carnival to support his master's thesis, "The economics and demographics of freak show attendance". Clancy was proud of his school, so the grand prize was set as a four-year full-ride scholarship to Yale.
Stunned carnival executives consult with their attorney, but your case is ironclad. You have won a full ride to Yale University, including room and board, with an estimated value of $253,000 in 2015.
So your decision now is whether to take the scholarship and attend, and if so, select a major. The rules are as follows:
1. You can pursue the degree at any point in your life. You do not have to take it now.
2. The prize is not transferable in any way, and cannot be sold or substituted for cash. You attend Yale or you walk away with the insulation-stuffed squirrel.
3. The prize will allow you to obtain a bachelor's degree only.
4. Everything in your current life applies: your age, your academic skills, your current degree(s) if any, your location, your marital status, etc. You are you.
The accompanying poll contains an abbreviated list of Yale degree programs. (There's actually about 70, so I eliminated the interdisciplinary combo degrees and some other random ones. If you're a Yale professor and I eliminated your program, I apologize.)