I don’t know in what state of mind I was, I wasn’t intoxicated, while the following thought came to mind while pondering the observation that some people don’t seem to live, or do anything with their lives:
“Maybe the reason some people live is because of ‘sunk cost fallacy’?”
A weird but intriguing thought that stuck with me while I finished my bathroom trip and walked back to my desk.
Seeing the humour in it, I decided to tell my trusted virtual assistant (aka ChatGPT 4): “Write a dark humorist short story about the idea that most people are alive is an example of sunk cost fallacy”.
This is what it answered:
In a quaint little town named Ironyville, where the streets were lined with paradoxical shops like “The Eternal Loan Office” and “Yesterday’s Future Antiques,” lived an eccentric philosopher named Simon. Simon had a peculiar notion, one that he often mused about while sipping his paradoxically lukewarm hot chocolate at the local café, “The Oxymoron.” He believed that life itself was the grandest example of the sunk cost fallacy.
One day, Simon decided to share his theory with the world, or at least, with the patrons of “The Oxymoron.” He stood up, cleared his throat, and announced, “Fellow Ironyvillians, consider this: most people cling to life simply because they’ve invested so much time being alive. It’s the sunk cost fallacy in its purest form!”
The café, usually a hub of laughter and lively debate, fell into an eerie silence. The barista, known for her existential latte art, paused mid-swirl. Simon, undeterred, continued, “We go through the motions, day in and day out, simply because we’ve been doing it for so long. We’re like investors, too deep into a failing venture, unable to cut our losses!”
Old Man Jenkins, who had lived through wars, recessions, and the great paradox drought of ’58, piped up, “But Simon, isn’t there more to life than a balance sheet of time spent?”
Simon smirked, “Ah, but that’s the dark humour of it all, Jenkins! We dress it up with meaning, purpose, love, and ambition, but strip it down, and what are we? Just creatures too stubborn to admit that maybe, just maybe, we’re overvaluing our existence because we’ve already put so much into it.”
The café erupted into a cacophony of debate. Some agreed with Simon, nodding thoughtfully into their ironically full empty cups. Others argued passionately, defending the intrinsic value of life beyond the cold calculus of sunk costs.
Meanwhile, in the corner, young Lily, an aspiring philosopher herself, pondered Simon’s words. She raised her hand, the room fell silent, and she asked, “But Simon, if life is a sunk cost, why do you still choose to partake in it, in this café, with us?”
Simon paused, the irony of his presence not lost on him. With a wry smile, he replied, “Ah, Lily, perhaps it’s because the greatest irony of all is that knowing something doesn’t always mean acting upon it. Or maybe, just maybe, it’s because this café makes a mean paradoxically lukewarm hot chocolate.”
The café erupted into laughter, the tension broken. Life in Ironyville went on, a little wiser and a lot more paradoxical. Simon continued to frequent “The Oxymoron,” enjoying his hot chocolate and the company of those who, like him, were perhaps too invested in the grand, humorous, and undeniably compelling venture of life.