WARNING : SATIRE!
This morning, I'm running slightly late and I rush to the bus stop. I'm panting, my forehead is moist from the brisk walking and I see, vaguely, a double decker bus about half a kilometer down from the road. Some time back, I would have prayed for it to be my bus. Now, a couple of years later, things are a bit different. You should have noticed. I stopped believing.
Things are not that different though. I know that there are five buses which come to that bus stop. A double decker means, the other two are out. So it could be one of three. So, assuming that there is equal probability of either three popping up (not perfect, but not necessarily a bad assumption), there's a 1/3 chance of that being the bus I sooo desperately need. I hold my breath. As the bus rolls into clear view, I am overjoyed. Its the 143 that takes me directly to work. Probability calculations work.
What if it wasn't the 143? I would have sighed ... and forgotten about it.
I'm not kidding. Probability calculations got me into medical school. I remember walking into the hall where we were writing our essays. There were about 800 candidates competing with me. There were 250 seats. My trained-for-engineering-school brain said there was a .31 chance of me getting in, by sheer chance. Now I had spoken to a handful of those candidates and many just apply because they have the scores or the want to try their luck. I know many of those kids aren't getting in. Which means my probability of getting in is higher than 1/3. Which is pretty awesome!
Suck it up, calculating your odds helps you achieve what you want. Now on to figuring out if it can save the lives of the terminally ill.
Facebookers: Check out the rest of the blog here
This morning, I'm running slightly late and I rush to the bus stop. I'm panting, my forehead is moist from the brisk walking and I see, vaguely, a double decker bus about half a kilometer down from the road. Some time back, I would have prayed for it to be my bus. Now, a couple of years later, things are a bit different. You should have noticed. I stopped believing.
Things are not that different though. I know that there are five buses which come to that bus stop. A double decker means, the other two are out. So it could be one of three. So, assuming that there is equal probability of either three popping up (not perfect, but not necessarily a bad assumption), there's a 1/3 chance of that being the bus I sooo desperately need. I hold my breath. As the bus rolls into clear view, I am overjoyed. Its the 143 that takes me directly to work. Probability calculations work.
What if it wasn't the 143? I would have sighed ... and forgotten about it.
I'm not kidding. Probability calculations got me into medical school. I remember walking into the hall where we were writing our essays. There were about 800 candidates competing with me. There were 250 seats. My trained-for-engineering-school brain said there was a .31 chance of me getting in, by sheer chance. Now I had spoken to a handful of those candidates and many just apply because they have the scores or the want to try their luck. I know many of those kids aren't getting in. Which means my probability of getting in is higher than 1/3. Which is pretty awesome!
Suck it up, calculating your odds helps you achieve what you want. Now on to figuring out if it can save the lives of the terminally ill.
Facebookers: Check out the rest of the blog here
