Date: Sat, 29 Apr 2000 Statistically Speaking By Ken Allen The bell chimed softly as Harold opened the door and entered the Spells 'R Us shop. He had heard rumors of this strange store around campus, but never believed them. After all, he was a mathematician, a scientist. Magic can't be real. Can it? Harold stood just inside the door and surveyed the shop. All manner of odd objects appeared to be displayed everywhere, in no apparent order. The items looked like they ranged in age from ancient pre-historic artifacts such as Indonesian tribal fertility statues to a very modern and new-looking remote control for a television. As cluttered as it was, however, it looked clean and well kept. "Howdy, Harold. Welcome to my shop." Startled, Harold jumped when he was addressed. He was suddenly aware of an elderly man in an old bathrobe standing in front of him. He must have been daydreaming he thought, or he would surely have seen the old man approaching. "Er, Howdy, Sir. I'm afraid you have the advantage of me," Harold said. "How did you know my name?" The old man sighed. "Well, I am a wizard, after all. Knowing things is part of the job description. I even knew to throw in the 'howdy' as a standard Oklahoma greeting." Harold decided this was the person he wanted to talk to, and there was no time like the present. The store was empty except for him and the old man, so there should be time to get some answers if there were answers to be had. "Sir, may I have a few minutes of your time? I'd like to ask some questions about a subject that has been bothering me for awhile." "Sure, Harold. What's on your mind?" The old man sat down on an old orange crate Harold hadn't noticed before, and motioned him to another. Harold sat. "I'm majoring in math at Tulsa University and specializing in statistical analysis. In spite of the old adage about 'lies, damn lies, and statistics,' this discipline has very valuable uses. Market analysis allows manufacturers to know what to make and retailers what to stock. Viewer statistics govern the content of the television schedules, and allow advertisers to know when and where their ads will get the best response. Political polls give politicians an idea what the electorate wants, as well as giving the gamblers realistic odds for election results. Statistics permeate our lives and sometimes even govern our society." "I don't know if this is necessarily a good thing," the old man said, "but I can't dispute what you say. Given all this, what's your problem?" "There is one statistic I cannot resolve. All others make sense intuitively or at least have a calculable margin of error. This one makes no sense, and I can't find any rationale for error except possible outside manipulation. And that manipulation would have to be magical!" "And this is why you sought me out? To ask a wizard if this outside magical interference is real?" The old man got up and walked to a nearby refrigerator Harold didn't remember seeing. He came back with two bottles of soda. "Grapette?" he said, handing one to Harold. "Thank you, Sir. Yes, that's correct. I wanted to talk to a magician or wizard, if such a person existed. I'll admit my skepticism about magic, but I'm willing to listen. I can find no other explanation for this anomaly." "And this anomaly would be?" Prompted the old man. "The ratio of males to females over different age ranges," Harold replied. "Statistically, there are about 106 males born for every 100 females born. By age 30, there are almost exactly as many males as females. But by age 60, there are only about 90 males for every 100 females." "Don't females have a longer life expectancy than males?" "That's true, but life expectancies are themselves a statistic. Plus, the average life expectancy is almost 70 for both sexes, so these ratios should not show such a drastic drift until later." "Okay," the old man responded, "then what about males' more dangerous lifestyles? More males than females die by accidents, don't they?" "Yes, and more males die by warfare, also. But not enough to account for this discrepancy. This country hasn't been in a war with significant casualties in more than thirty years." Harold sipped his Grapette. That's a good soda, he thought. Wonder why it's not more popular? I'll have to run an analysis of soda pop preferences one of these days. "Sounds like quite a conundrum," the old man agreed. "What conclusions have you drawn?" Harold swallowed another sip of his Grapette and sighed. Here comes the hard part, and he knew he was going to sound like an idiot. But, nothing ventured... "The only conclusion I've been able to draw, crazy as it sounds, is that somebody or something is turning men into women. Given the current state of our technology, the only thing that could do that in the kind of scale necessary would be magic!" The old man looked at Harold. At least he wasn't laughing out loud. "If someone or something was using magical means to transform men into women, that would solve your conundrum. But you'd still need to explain WHY they or it would do this, wouldn't you?" "There you have me. I can think of no sane reason. Of course, maybe the magical agent is NOT sane? Still, you'd think there would have to be a reason of some kind. I'm stumped. That's why I hoped you might have some insight to help me figure this out." "Why did you think I could help? You admit you are skeptical about magic, and this seems a purely scientific puzzle you're trying to solve." "You're right," Harold agreed. "I came here as a last, desperate effort to find the answer. In spite of my skepticism about magic, there were good reasons for me to seek you out for help on this problem." "What reasons?" the old man asked. "Rumors around campus say mysterious and weird things happen to people who visit your shop. Boys are often turned into girls, men into women, and so forth. And the shop itself is said to appear at random in malls all over the world. Rumors are rumors, and sometimes may contain an element of truth somewhere within them, so I examined this one closely. If there is anything at all to the reality of magic, your shop would appear to be the real thing." "What convinced you? Have you spoken to one of these male-to-female transformees?" The old man smiled. "I've tried to identify some of these ex-men, but haven't been able to find any. Evidently the magic resolves their identities as female to everybody who knew them, and even modifies their records so it is impossible to prove they were ever anything but female. I even suspect that the transformees are mentally adjusted to know themselves as female, with no memories of a masculine past life. If any do remember their male lives, then they are apparently satisfied with the changes and refuse to let anybody know they were anything other than they appear. No, the convincing clue was your name." "My name? But you don't know my name," the old man said. "Your shop's name," Harold said. "Here in Oklahoma is a trucking company that used to be called Trucks 'R Us. After several months the company changed its name to Trucks-For-You, requiring an obviously expensive repainting of all their trucks and signs. You can probably imagine the court fight that ensued before the Toys 'R Us trademark owners won the battle." "Yet here you are, floating all over the place with a name like Spells 'R Us. In today's litigious society the only thing that would allow you to continue doing that without spending millions in legal costs would be magic. So I've come here hoping you could confirm my theory," Harold said. "Sorry," the old man said. "I can't fault your reasoning, so I won't try to argue you out of your conclusions. If I ever become aware of anything like this going on, I'll send you a message. Until then, perhaps your data is inaccurate, or your calculations lack a factor you haven't yet considered." Harold sipped the last of his Grapette, then got up and placed the empty bottle in a rack hanging over the refrigerator. Hailey turned back to the old man, stuck out her hand and shook his. "Thank you for your time, Sir. I appreciate you humoring a crazy and befuddled grad student. Thank you also for the soda." As Hailey left the shop, the old man said, "Good luck with your problem!" She turned back and flashed him a beautiful smile. As she departed the mall, she thought to herself that perhaps she shouldn't wait too long to find a husband. Statistically, the pickings get slimmer as she gets older. Dannie walked in from the back room. "You old curmudgeon! Why did you do that to him? He was the most respectful and polite customer you've had in months." The old man finished his own non-magical Grapette and put the empty bottle in the rack. "In the first place, you'll notice that he was not a customer. He didn't buy a thing! And in the second place, he was so close to the truth I felt he deserved to become one of the statistics he loved playing with. It seemed appropriate, somehow." "Why didn't you 'fess up and tell him that he was correct in his conclusions? That was a very remarkable young man to figure out what was going on from such meager clues!" "It's not time yet for the world to know about our gender crusade. I was tempted to tell him that he was one hundred percent correct, but then I would have had to explain why we are doing this. It is not yet time to let the world know that a day is coming when it will be very important for most of the population to be female!" "Still, old man, I've never known you to lie before today. You never admitted that you knew anything about these magical gender changes, but you did promise to send a message if you ever became aware of them." "I did not lie. Hailey is completely female, and knows it, and the magic altered reality to support that gender all the way back to her birth. All her friends, family, and associates know her as female. Such is the power of magic. But I sent a message, as I promised. If she thinks to look for it, and understands it when she sees it, then she will have her answer." "Really, old man? What was the message?" "Her birth certificate shows her birth sex as 'M'!" The old man grinned.