Case prep with Helen

“You didn’t have to come all the way out here,” Helen says as you poke your head into the glass conference room. “Case prep isn’t what most people would call a good time on a Saturday afternoon.”

“I wanted to check out the business school. You can’t get rid of me that easily,” you laugh.

You look around the room, admiring the sleek wood furnishings and the designer chairs, the collection of fresh fruit on the glass platter at the center of the table, and the Hudson River School landscape hanging opposite the tall windows. They really splurge for the students here. Then, you turn to Helen, taking in her business casual white blouse and light jacket. It’s unbuttoned to show a tasteful amount of cleavage. She’s tied her hair back in a ponytail today, wearing just enough make-up to bring out the natural beauty of her face. She gives you an interested glance, her slender fingers poised over her tablet keyboard.

“So you’ve checked it out,” Helen says. “What do you think?”

“Lovely as ever,” you reply. “Breathtaking, really.”

“‘As ever?’ You said you’ve never been here before,” Helen says, lifting an eyebrow.

“I was talking about you,” you reply naturally. “What else could I have been checking out for so long?”

“Careful with that silver tongue,” Helen smiles, grabbing a red fruit off the platter. “One taste of this pomegranate and there’s no leaving once we get started. Are you sure you don’t want out? This is your last chance.”

“Management consulting’s real serious stuff, huh?” you say, taking a seat next to her.

“They’re already interviewing for next year’s interns,” she says. “So it’s do or die, and I fully intend to survive. That means it’s time to prep my ass off.”

“Then there’s no time to waste,” you say.

“Exactly. Straight to the first question,” Helen says, not missing a beat. “It’s classic market sizing. ‘How many condoms are sold in the US each year?’”

“I don’t know,” you frown. “Millions?”

“The point isn’t the answer so much as how you come to it,” Helen laughs. “Come on. Let’s work this out together. Condoms are used for sex, so how many times does the typical person fuck each year? Every day seems reasonable if you’re in a relationship, though it could be slightly less for those looking for casual hookups.”

“Those numbers only make sense if you’re our age,” you say. “I’m pretty sure middle-aged married couples don’t go at it every day.”

“Good point,” she nods, jotting that down. “Let’s say middle aged people do it half as much? And for the retirement age folks… oh, let’s say once a week. Low sex drives, and I can only imagine what they need to do to get a old geezer hard.”

“I’m not ready to grow old,” you say, glancing down at your little guy. “Fuck, what will I be when I can’t get hard anymore?”

“You’re in an interview for your future job. Now’s not the time for an existential crisis,” Helen says, snapping her fingers. “Quick, what other pieces of information do we need to answer the problem?”

“The number of people in each age group, the percent of people in each group who have regular sex, the proportion of people that use alternative forms of birth control, the proportion of people who don’t use birth control,” you rattle off. “So… that’s a lot of things.”

“Not to mention the number of people who don’t fit into our oversimplified categories,” Helen smiles. “How many wallet-hopefuls always carry a condom around, only to have it expire before they ever use it? Or what about those inane condom challenges that are always going viral? I’m not convinced there wasn’t some guerilla marketing going on behind the scenes.”

“Imagine being that ad-exec,” you laugh, kicking back in your chair, pretending to puff on a cigar and faking a British accent. “Oh yes, Roger, you know what will really get the young people going? Yes, that’s right, ol’ chap, wrapping these rubbers around their heads, that’s what’ll do the trick.”

“Gee, golly, what a strapping idea,” Helen laughs, adopting an accent of her own, her fingers clicking across the keyboard as she speaks. “That must have been the easiest Ferrari of their lives.”

You lean over to Helen’s side, curious of what she’s been typing up on her tablet this entire time, and are startled to see that she’s not taking notes—she’s got an Excel spreadsheet up, and the entire thing is filled with various numbers that jump in value as she fills out the remaining empty cells.

“What’s this?” you ask, giving a low whistle.

“Nothing more than a model that includes all of the factors that we discussed,” she says. “The numbers are ballpark and if I had more time I’d pull data from some actual sources, but again, not the point of the exercise… so my guess is half a billion condoms per year.”

“Now I want to know what the real answer is,” you say, searching up the question on your phone. You whistle again when the answer pops up on your phone. “Four-hundred fifty million? Hey, we were pretty damn close!”

“Not bad,” Helen nods. “Fifty million off is not bad at all.”

“Make that forty nine million, nine hundred thousand, ninety nine,” you say.

“Why the extra condom?” she asks, giving you a confused look.

“I’m going to buy one just to celebrate,” you say. “You want to join me in using it?”

“I’ve reserved this room for the next eight hours,” Helen says with a wan smile, “and the depressing reality is, I intend to use all the allotted time to prepare for my interviews. But keep that thought. It’s an interesting one.”

“I will,” you say, taking the turn of events in stride. This was always going to be a longshot, and things may have gone as well as they could’ve.

Helen +15