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Bell Curve


Your reaction time was a tenth of a second slower because you had three beers in you when you were supposed to stop. You didn't. And you hit the lady pushing her kid in the stroller. It's all over for you. The rest of your life will be spent dating Bubba in Cell Block 6.


You were driving while intoxicated, but just missed the lady crossing the street. No manslaughter charges, but you are still fired as your smoldering truck is pried out of the corner of the telephone pole you hit. There are likely some gardens you can tend where you won't do (as much) damage.


You truck a while. You leave. You come back. You leave. It's a lotta "eih." Hopefully you love your family and your spouse has a steady job.


You move up the "corporate" ladder of trucking in a big company—you end up not even driving much; instead you manage 100 other drivers and get a small piece of the profits of the company—you can retire with almost a million bucks and look back over a multi-million mile career.


You start your own trucking company. Eventually you own 158 big rigs and 500 smaller trucks. Warren Buffett offers to buy you out for $50 million. You take it and spend a big part of the rest of your life whining about taxes. Never thought you'd end up The Man you hated so much as a teen.