Introduction to Catastrophe Modeling

It could happen.

Photo by Brad Neathery on Unsplash

“But I don’t understand,” Chris leaned forward in his seat, his palms up on the desk. “Graduation is next weekend. I already got my cap and gown, bro!”

His advisor, Roger, turned his screen around so Chris could see it. “I know you’re frustrated, but look: it’s not enough credits. That’s just the math, Chris.”

Roger was right; the screen claimed he only had 110 credits. With the nine he was taking this semester, that wouldn’t give him 120. It made no sense; all through college, he’d checked with Roger every semester to make sure he was on track. He’d even taken an extra course online while he was home the summer between freshman and sophomore year: Probability & Statistics II, which sucked but was worth getting through before fall.

“We checked, though, dude,” Chris said. “Remember? Last fall? We added it up; I was gonna be three credits over. It’s why I took the internship this semester, because I could get away with just taking nine and still graduate?”

Roger sighed. “I remember,” he sighed. “And really, Chris, I’m sorry. No one saw it coming. We all thought the new regulations wouldn’t take effect until fall. And no one thought they’d be retroactive. It was a surprise to all of us.”

“But I never took any of those classes,” Chris insisted. “I’m not interested in that woke shit. Sorry.” He traced the K on his fraternity sweatpants, the logo was already faded. He’d gotten them for Christmas; his mom must have bought them cheap off Amazon.

“Well, the list of classes getting cut for liberalism infractions was pretty extensive, unfortunately,” Roger said, swiveling his monitor back to face him. “And one of the special topics classes you took was on it. It was the one called…” and here he clicked his mouse a few times, “ASR367: Introduction to Catastrophe Modeling.”

“The one about weather and stuff?” Chris asked, leaning back. “What the hell? Sorry. I mean, that’s like, basic stuff for actuarial science! It was, like, how to model out storms and fires, or even, like, terror attacks, and figure out how insurance companies cover their losses. How is that liberalism? That’s fucking stupid. Sorry.”

“From what I can see, it’s the units that cover ‘climate change’,” Roger answered, making air quotes with his fingers. “Since that’s been determined to be a hoax, all courses with ‘climate change’ content comprising more than 15% of the syllabus have been eliminated and the credits reversed.”

Chris sat back and looked at Roger. “That’s bullshit.”

Roger stared at him.

“Sorry. Language. I’m just…I’m pissed, is all. What do I do now?”

“Chris, I’m going to remind you now that members of our business school are held to a pretty high standard of professionalism,” Roger said, tipping his chair back so he could cross his legs. “Your demeanor today isn’t cutting it.”

He pointed to Chris’s sweatpants and t-shirt; Chris had come straight from the gym when he got the email about being barred from graduation. Normally he’d have worn a shirt and tie, but this felt like an emergency.

“I’m going to let it slide given the disappointing circumstances of the moment,” Roger went on. “But don’t let it happen again. Now, to answer your question: since you’ve maintained a 3.87 GPA, we’re going to credit your bursar account for the four credits you’re missing, and we’ll get you into whatever replacement class you like in the fall, even if it’s currently full. So that’s good news, right?”

Another semester wasn’t going to work for Chris, that much he knew. Chris squinted, took out his phone, and called his dad, who was running for Congress; the campaign literature already listed a son about to graduate after 8 semesters on the business school’s Dean’s List. This would never stand.

***

Back at the fraternity house two days later, the four other guys who’d taken ASR367 with Chris threw him an epic party. After a call from his dad to the Dean, the policy turned out not to be retroactive after all.

“To being the last class to develop a risk model for Southern Florida hurricane damage!” Chris shouted.

The guys all smashed their beers together. Relief hung in the air like a storm cloud.