The residents of Lilliput spend a lot of time thinking about giants. Have the giants noticed me? Do they like me? Will they pick me up gently or swat me like a bug?
My third year as an Assistant Professor, one of my papers was accepted for the AEA. I had worked on the idea for a long time, first on my own, and then with my outstanding coauthor. Between us, we probably spent 5 years working on it. We were thrilled.
A week before the conference, our discussant reached out. There could not have been a better match. His related paper was forthcoming in a top 5 journal. He was a job market star the year before. Though he and I were of similar vintage, he was, without a shred of doubt, a giant.
“Is this the most current version available?”
“Yes.”
“Cool, thanks. I look forward to meeting you next week.”
Next week rolls around. I look at the conference schedule to find the session. Saturday, 2 p.m. Good time. Those with hangovers have slept them off. The post-lunch-only crowd might come. Its not so late that people are leaving for happy hour. Plus, there are no other economic theory sessions at this time. Hopefully, the talk will be well-attended.
Indeed, it was.
My coauthor presents. The discussant comes to the podium. He thanks us for writing the paper and giving him an opportunity to give his insights. He provides an exceptionally clear and concise summary. He begins his comments.
“After carefully reviewing the paper, I believe I have found a very serious mistake.”
The room quiets. Some people look around confused. This is unusual, but not unheard of. I do my best to keep my composure, hoping the turd in my pants doesn’t give me away.
He advances to the next slide.
I almost died laughing.
This paper had circulated. It had been presented at conferences. It was in its second round of review. My coauthor and I had probably looked at that page 10,000 times.
A giant had noticed me. Somehow I survived.
The year before, I was at a different conference. I don’t know if this one was more difficult to get into, but it was definitely much more difficult to get to. After my 3 hour flight, there was a 2 hour cab ride. The cab made concerning noises the entire time. It smelled like cigarettes, pine tree air freshener, and a variety of other less identifiable, but no less noxious odors. Once you got to the conference, you were stuck. Without a car, the only thing I could do was hang out in the shitty motel. I bought a frozen pizza and heated it in the lobby.
I didn’t care.
This was the conference of John Nash, Kenneth Arrow, Eric Maskin, and Alvin Roth.
I check the schedule: 8 a.m. Sunday. No hangover crowd for sure. But the first presenter is well-known. Maybe there will be some spillover.
I get to the presentation room 15 minutes early. The room is locked. I find a staff member to help me unlock it and boot up the computer. I load my slides. 10 minutes to go. I track down some “coffee.” It tasted horrible, but pretending to drink it gave me something to do besides just sitting around. 8 minutes. One of the other presenters shows up. A couple grad students follow. The room now has maybe 6 people, including the three presenters. 5 minutes left.
An elderly man with a brown leather bag and hat slowly enters the room. He sits down and pulls out a notebook. He starts jotting something down. He takes off his hat. I see the long white beard. I see the kippah. I look at the other presenter. Our eyes meet. He is thinking the same thing as I am.
Holy shit. That’s motherfuckin’ Bob Aumann.
The presenter goes to the podium and quickly glances through his slides. He’s carefully watching the clock. 1 minute left.
Aumann puts down his pen and looks up from his notebook. He surveys the room. He begins to speak.
“WAIT. What room is this?!?”
“Uh, GLC 432, Dr. Aumann, and may I just say…”
Aumann mumbles something about “342,” packs up his bag and leaves.
The rest of the session was uneventful.
t took me a while to understand the flaw in the Lilliputian's dilemma. I had assumed that the giants were looking down.
Mostly, they were looking for the right room.