Economists have never agreed on much. How could they? There’s supply, sure, and demand—they agree on this. But what happens beyond those two ideas is really a mystery, and if ever someone were to figure it out, well, all would be simply lovely. For now, however, economists don’t agree on much.

That happens to be the case for Dr. Francis Lawrence (PhD in Economics from some prestigious business school or another) and his roommate, Robert Townsend (PhD, BAcc, MBA, DBA). They agree on very little (since they are economists), but they do agree that tomorrow, finally, will be the day they make the breakthrough their work in economics has been waiting for.

They have agreed on this for the last twenty-eight years, and they have been wrong for 28 of those years. As part of their work in economics—as they are tenured professors, and their methods are not to be doubted—they decided today in the morning to go mushroom hunting in the woods. They call this “market arbitraging,” but the reality is that they spent this month’s earnings betting on football games in the local pub. Mushroom hunting makes for a cheaper supper than a grocery run to Tesco.

They find themselves, now, in the woods—surprisingly, they both agree that they are in the woods. They do not agree on the temperature, however: Robert thinks it is a tad chilly, while Dr. Francis has no opinion, yet, on the weather. So the conversation proceeds, more or less, as follows:

“It’s a bit chilly, I think.” (At this point Dr. Francis develops an opinion.)

Dr. Francis: “You’re mistaken. Bristol is usually quite warm this time of year, and I don’t imagine today is out of the ordinary.”

Robert: “Well, Francis, if you had any published work in peer-reviewed climate journals, we could have this discussion. Until the scientific method proves me wrong, however, I’ll proceed with the assumption that it’s a bit chilly.”

The two economists, both men of science (if you could call economics that), are dedicated disciples of the scientific method. Dr. Francis gives up the argument, for now, but makes a note to himself to bring a thermometer on the next mushroom-hunting expedition.

Thermometer? Or is it a thermostat?, Dr. Francis wonders. I can never remember the difference…

They find themselves deeper in the woods now. Here, the mushrooms are plentiful, and soon the two men are hard at work collecting mushrooms. Not long—the time equivalent of four centimeters—after, Robert sees a pile of shit. (For the faint-hearted, it could also be described as a pile of solid droppings from a large mammal. Feel free to use whatever term fancies your suit.). Being not just a man of science but also a man of humour, Robert exclaims, “Why, Dr. Francis! I’ve just discovered the most brilliant economic opportunity of the week for you! If you eat this pile of shit, I’ll give you fifty quid.^[1] Sound like a deal?”

It should be noted here that these are two PhDs. They do not joke around, and every statement or decision they make is calculated. It should further be noted, however, that £50 is £50. As rational market actors, the two men make decisions off of the options’ marginal utility^[2]. In this case, £50 is £50 and the deal appears very lucrative to Dr. Francis: he will not have to eat as much for supper, and he will be able to buy new shoes now.

He replies, “If only my mother were alive to see me here, making £50 an hour,” and eats the pile of shit. It doesn’t taste so bad; its taste reminds him vaguely of investment banking. How glad he is not to have taken the job on Wall Street after graduating college! Oh, how he loves the forests of Bristol…

“I am not the same man I was a few minutes ago, Robert,” laments Dr. Francis. “Now,” he says, “I am the same man but with £50 more to my name; what a shame it is, really, that you have lost those same fifty quid.”

But Robert is not sorrowed by the loss of his fifty-pound bills. He finds himself in hysteric laughter, and finds his fifty pounds could not have been better spent. It seems that the two men have profited, however unconventionally, in their mushroom-hunting adventure, and as the sun starts to fall towards the horizon the two men start to head home with baskets full of fungi. The edible kind, not the kind in Dr. Francis’ shoes. (Robert has noticed a smell coming from the shoe cabinet at home, but hasn’t said anything—yet.).

As the two economists—for they are not out of the woods yet—continue on their way out of the forest, Dr. Francis spots an uneaten pile of shit. He has £50 weighing heavily in his pocket and wants to put it to good use. Robert seemed to enjoy using his £50… Why not try the same? Dr. Francis makes an offer to Robert: “Good fellow, eat shit. I will pay you fifty pound if you do, and I’ll carry your mushrooms for the rest of the way.”

Robert’s mind has been far away, thinking about smelly shoes. In another life he could’ve been an engineer, he thinks, for he has come up with the perfect temporary solution to deforestation. Since it is only temporary, though, he gives up his engineering dreams: solving problems is only newsworthy when the solution is final, no? But he has been made an interesting business proposition, and he is an economist—he knows all about business propositions.

My arms have been growing tired, Robert ponders, and Dr. Francis’ birthday is coming up… Perhaps I ought to buy him some new shoes? The £50 would be helpful, I suppose. To Robert, £50 is £50. (Since the two men are economists, they might argue that trading on the foreign market in the past few hours has changed the value of £50 so it is no longer £50—however, that is what Dr. Francis is currently thinking. Robert cannot agree with Dr. Francis—an economist—and so to him £50 is £50. It’s quite complicated. It’s a very dynamic environment that the two of them navigate.)

“Hold my mushrooms, won’t you?” Robert asks of Dr. Francis. Dr. Francis obeys, and Robert eats the pile of excrement a handful at a time. It takes a while, but once it is done Dr. Francis is still howling hysterically.

“Reminds me of your mother,” mutters Robert.
Dr. Francis is surprised, replying, “Oh? How so?”
“Warm, but not warm enough,” replies Robert.
“Just like our house,” says Dr. Francis.

Robert agrees. “Just like our house.”

Finally! I’ll get him new shoes and be rid of that smell in the shoe cabinet, he thinks to himself. Meanwhile, Dr. Francis is lost in thought: I wonder when I’ll ever get the new shoes now.

Both men are satisfied with how they’ve spent their £50 today, and both are satisfied with the money they’ve made. Finally, after hours of walking (they are economists, not cartographers) and a tip from a local park ranger, they reach their car. The car is brown. Shit brown, in fact, in the dusk. They load the mushrooms into the trunk, but Robert pauses before getting into the passenger seat. He frowns, then says something out loud—but it is lost in the wind that has just passed Dr. Francis.

Robert says again, louder this time, “You know, Francis, I can’t help but wonder…”

“I paid you £50 after you ate a pile of shit. Then, you paid me £50 to eat a pile of shit. So I wonder: did we each just eat a pile of shit for nothing?”

Dr. Francis laughs. He laughs for a full minute, and the car starts to smell like the pre-digested animal food still on his breath.

“You’re wrong,” replies Dr. Francis once he finally catches his breath. “You’re wrong, my friend, for we have raised the GDP by £100.”