Accountants are Zen masters because everything must be in balance. They are living proof that spreadsheets can be thrilling.
Albert wakes up with a calculator under his pillow. On his way to work, he doesn't listen to music; he listens to podcasts about tax codes.
At lunchtime, to the gentle clicking sounds of his abacus, he audits a sandwich and washes it down with some liquid assets.
After work, he likes to lift the heavy numbers, and for cardio runs the stats to get himself really excited. He is precision-sharp in an accrual world.
Date night is a candlelit dinner with his favourite financial software. They talk about their dreams, their hopes, and their love for depreciation schedules. Unfortunately, his last love didn’t fall within materiality levels, so he had to write it off as valid tax deduction.
He’s now living the wild life, one spreadsheet at the time. At parties, he analyses the room. “Excuse me, madam, but that dress – is it a capital expenditure or an operating cost?”
Back at home, at the end of the accounted day, he writes down his thoughts, such as “Oh 2 plus 2, why do you always equal 4? Can’t you be a little adventurous and be 5 just for today?”
When in bed he doesn’t count sheep; he reconciles them. “One sheep, two sheep, carry the three, minus the depreciation…”
May his ledger always balance.
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