Stories From The Fam: His name was Masikini…

I think he was a liar.

What a weird social experiment. Imagine you are having a conversation with your significant other, a random person applying for a job at your work, and a perfect stranger that you just met at Zanzibar Blue. You believe that the stranger is either a compulsive liar or a con artist, but he never leaves your group long enough for you to compare notes with the others. That was me. We each tweaked him a little throughout the conversation. I guess you could call it egging him on. It was just so fascinating to hear what he would say next with a little prodding, all along wondering if any shred of what he said was true.

It all started innocently enough. There was some confusion when we found an open table. It turns out the occupant had just gone to the restroom. The guy at the next table told us that the guy was coming back. He said that he was very friendly and that he thought it would be fine. It was a little awkward, but we muddled through and landed the table. After the original occupant left I thanked the guy at the next table. It was a little loud so he came over to our table. That is when the magical story telling began. It’s hard to know where to start with this story, and he had a lot to say, so I will just recount some of my favorite highlights.

We made introductions. Sir Oolius told him his first name. Of course he pronounced it with an American accent. “Oh, you’re German” he said. For those of you who know his first name, you know that it’s pretty obvious. It turns out that German is just one of the four languages our new friend speaks! What a coincidence! Of course, he said something to Sir in German. To which Sir replied “Fahrvergnügen”. I thought the reply was strange, but he sometimes doesn’t like to speak German as a party trick. I don’t speak German, so I had no idea what he said, but it certainly sounded authentic and in my mind, gave him a little credibility. Later he was telling a story about when he was in Germany, as part of his work in the Royal Army as a jet pilot. I suggested that he tell the story to Sir in German “just for fun”. Yeah, I was screwing with him a little. He replied, “but, Sir doesn’t speak German”, “oh but he does” I replied. That was pretty much the nail in the coffin that got him to stop talking. Deconstructing this exchange later, he must have assumed that Sir didn’t actually speak German based on the way he pronounced his own name. When he spoke to him in “German” he had made a lot of German sounds, but never uttered an actual word during the phrase that Sir could only describe as “gibberish”. Which made the reply “Farfegnugen” , classic.

Friday was his last day teaching at Wharton. He was invited to lecture there by Professor SoAndSo, the president of Wharton. But he also would finish teaching at Wharton after a half day tomorrow.

He has lived in 43 countries, because his parents are both diplomats.

In fact, his Father is the United Nations Economics director (you chose which one).

He attended the Escondido-Pasadena SoAndSo school. Telling him that I was born in Escondido, I questioned him. He explained “oh, they are very close, you know, Escondido is just north of Pasadena.”

He met the performer formerly known as the performer formerly known as Prince in the middle of the night in an empty field for the wedding of some rich people he didn’t actually know.

He is a pilot, including flying jets in the Royal Army, although Sir saw some holes in his flying knowledge. [Sir Oolius adds: like the part about how the tail hit the ground and burst into flames while he was pulling a vertical up on his way to a hammerhead, which of course he completed effortlessly...he didn't actually use those words, but maybe he wanted to keep it simple for us "lay people"]

He studied avionics at Oxford, but also attended Cambridge and Stanford.

He lives in Toronto and works on the fifty-uh-third floor looking down on the 1109 ft-high CN tower, though his business card clearly said 8th floor.

He broke his hand last week when he crashed a rich guys jet into a wall, he was still recovering though there wasn’t any clear evidence of injury.

He was definitely British, and NOT African. In fact just four generations back there was a Sicilian Mafia grandfather. Ok, so on his fathers side there was some connection to Zimbabwe, but that was a really long time ago.

He has made himself very wealthy working in finance with ground breaking theories of risk management and the SoAndSo market fund that he started that is now worth 4 billion dollars. “You can Google it” he said. With such extravagant taste, one might expect him to drink something other than Woodbridge white zinfandel.

My favorite part of this is his last name, Masikini, basically means “poor man” in Swahili, a language to which he has NO connection.

At the end of the evening we weren’t left with his check or pick pocketed or involved in any scam. We were just curious. We all new he was lying, but why? For fun? To feel important? To scam us? As part of some weird business training? Maybe he was training for this. I guess we will never know, but I do welcome your suggestions.