I have degrees in social science, math and physics. Everything

Host: The office was quiet except for the low hum of a fluorescent light and the distant clatter of an elevator closing somewhere down the hall. Outside, the city was wrapped in dusk — windows glowing, traffic lights bleeding color into the drizzle-soaked streets. The rain painted slow, uneven streaks across the glass, and the skyline looked like an oil painting someone had forgotten to finish.

Jack sat at his desk, tie loosened, jacket draped over the chair beside him. The papers on his desk were a battlefield — spreadsheets, contracts, and half-empty coffee cups standing like casualties of a long day. He rubbed the back of his neck, eyes tired, the kind of tired that came not from work, but from wondering what it was all for.

Jeeny leaned against the doorframe, her arms crossed, holding a takeout cup that was already going cold. Her hair was pulled back messily, and there was something in her expression — half amusement, half worry.

Jeeny: “Glen Taylor once said, ‘I have degrees in social science, math, and physics. Everything but business.’”

Host: Her voice cut through the silence like the flick of a light switch — gentle but precise.

Jack: Smirking faintly. “That’s the problem with geniuses. They learn everything except how the world really works.”

Jeeny: Raises an eyebrow. “You mean — how to make money?”

Jack: “Exactly. The language of power. You can study the stars, map the human mind, measure atoms — but if you can’t read a balance sheet, you’re still at someone else’s mercy.”

Host: He leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling as if it held the answers, the light above him flickering faintly.

Jeeny: “You always reduce life to transactions. Not everything is about power, Jack. Business is just one of the ways people organize survival.”

Jack: “Survival’s the polite word for control. And business — that’s the modern religion. We don’t pray to gods anymore. We pray to profit.”

Host: Jeeny walked in slowly, setting her cup on the edge of his cluttered desk. The steam curled upward like a small ghost, vanishing into the air between them.

Jeeny: “You talk like it’s a crime to believe in structure. Maybe what Taylor meant wasn’t that business is missing from his education — maybe he meant it’s missing from his soul. The part that calculates gain and loss can’t always understand meaning.”

Jack: “Meaning doesn’t pay rent.”

Jeeny: “No, but obsession with rent kills meaning. There’s a difference between surviving and living.”

Host: He let out a soft laugh — the kind that hides bitterness beneath amusement.

Jack: “That sounds nice on paper. But tell that to someone trying to keep a company afloat. Or pay their employees. Business isn’t evil — it’s discipline. The world doesn’t run on ideals.”

Jeeny: “The world doesn’t run without them either. You think the people who built it — the thinkers, scientists, dreamers — did it for profit? No. They did it for curiosity. For purpose. Taylor studied physics, math, social science — the fabric of how everything works. Business just measures the results.”

Host: Jack turned toward the window, watching the rain draw patterns on the glass. His reflection stared back — tired eyes, unshaven jaw, the faintest ghost of regret.

Jack: “Maybe that’s why he said it. Because understanding how everything works doesn’t mean you understand how to work everything. The universe is neat — cause, effect, balance. But people? People are messy. They sell what they can’t explain and buy what they don’t need. Business thrives on that chaos.”

Jeeny: “Then maybe business is just another form of physics — only the particles are human.”

Jack: Smirking. “Human behavior as quantum mechanics? That’s poetic, Jeeny. But particles don’t get greedy.”

Jeeny: “No — but they do collide. And that’s what business is, Jack. A series of collisions. Between need and value. Between ambition and conscience. Between what we want and what we’re willing to pay for it.”

Host: Her voice carried softly through the office, mingling with the rain’s faint percussion. Jack looked at her — really looked — and for a brief second, the weight in his eyes shifted into something like curiosity.

Jack: “So you think business is moral?”

Jeeny: “No. I think people are moral. Business just amplifies whatever’s already there. It’s a mirror — sometimes clean, sometimes cracked.”

Jack: “Then what’s education for, huh? Why study all those things — math, science, philosophy — if, in the end, the world only respects what sells?”

Jeeny: “Because knowledge shapes how we sell. How we lead. How we treat the people who depend on us. Glen Taylor may not have a business degree, but he built an empire on understanding human behavior, not just markets. That’s the difference — business is about numbers. Leadership is about people.”

Host: The rain intensified for a moment, tapping faster, as if applauding the point. The light from a passing car swept across their faces, painting them briefly in gold before fading.

Jack: “You sound like you think capitalism can be compassionate.”

Jeeny: “I think capitalism needs compassion. Otherwise, it devours itself. Business without empathy is like physics without gravity — everything just floats apart.”

Host: Jack smiled — but it was the kind of smile that came from someone who’d been wrong too many times to admit it easily. He reached for the takeout cup, sipped her cold coffee, and made a face.

Jack: “Still bitter.”

Jeeny: Grinning softly. “Like truth.”

Host: A faint laugh escaped him, half-choked, half-genuine. The room seemed lighter for a moment — as if the storm outside had leaned closer just to listen.

Jack: “Maybe you’re right. Maybe the problem isn’t business. Maybe it’s how we define success. Everyone studies to win the game — no one studies to understand the players.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. That’s what social science is — empathy. Math is logic. Physics is truth. Maybe Taylor didn’t need a business degree. Maybe he just needed all three.”

Host: He leaned forward, elbows on the desk, the city’s glow reflecting in his eyes now — not cold, but alive.

Jack: “You think I could learn business that way?”

Jeeny: “You already do. Every time you negotiate with life — every choice, every mistake, every compromise. Business isn’t just money, Jack. It’s relationship. It’s risk. It’s the art of balancing gain and grace.”

Host: A long silence stretched between them, comfortable and heavy at once. Outside, the rain softened, and the first lights of night shimmered against the wet pavement like fallen stars.

Jack: “You know, I used to believe the smartest people were the ones who knew how to make the most. Now I think maybe the smartest ones are those who know how to lose the least — of themselves.”

Jeeny: “That’s wisdom, not strategy. And wisdom doesn’t come with a degree.”

Host: She walked to the window, her reflection merging with his in the glass. The skyline beyond them pulsed faintly — offices still lit, lives still spinning in the machinery of ambition.

Jeeny: “You don’t have to study business to understand value. Sometimes, the most valuable thing you learn is what not to sell.”

Jack: Quietly. “Like your soul.”

Jeeny: “Exactly.”

Host: The light flickered once, then steadied. Somewhere, a clock struck eight. The storm had passed, leaving the city washed and waiting.

Jack stood, straightened his tie, and looked once more at the chaotic battlefield of papers on his desk. Then, with an odd calmness, he began stacking them neatly.

Jack: “Maybe tomorrow I’ll start over. Study something new.”

Jeeny: “You mean business?”

Jack: Smiles faintly. “No. Humanity.”

Host: She laughed — softly, warmly — and for a moment, it filled the room more completely than any lesson or ledger ever could.

The rain outside slowed to a whisper, the lights of the city shimmering like gold dust. In that quiet office, amid the smell of coffee and ink, they sat surrounded by the truth of it — that the world could be measured in numbers, but only understood in hearts.

And maybe that was the real degree everyone kept missing.