A few days ago, I came across a video in one of the business communities urging entrepreneurs to make purely rational decisions, leaving emotions behind.
My friends Jules Winnfield and Mr. White seem to disagree.
Jules, Vincent, and Mr. White are huddled in a corner of a dingy, neon-lit diner.
Jules: (gesticulating with a half-eaten burger) “…and that’s why you can’t separate emotions from decisions, motherfucker. It’s all interconnected, like the way Marsellus Wallace’s soul is connected to that mysterious briefcase.”
Vincent: (leaning forward, intrigued) “Go on, Jules. I’m all ears.”
Jules: “Think about it. Every goddamn choice we make, from pickin’ our breakfast cereal to decidin’ which poor bastard to put a bullet in, it’s all guided by our gut feelings.”
Mr. White: (joining them, sliding into the booth) “The man’s got a point. Back in my day, planning a heist wasn’t just about the logistics. It was about the thrill, the fear, the excitement. Those emotions sharpened our instincts, made us better at what we do.”
Vincent: “But what about when emotions cloud your judgment? Like that time in Amsterdam when I—”
Jules: (cutting him off sharply) “We agreed never to speak of Amsterdam again, Vincent.”
(Tension builds as a waitress approaches their table)
Waitress: “More coffee, gentlemen?”
Mr. White: (smiling tightly) “Please.”
(As the waitress pours, we flash back to 24 hours earlier. The three men are in a warehouse, surrounded by bloodstained money and weapons.)
Jules: (pacing) “We gotta decide what to do with this shit, and we gotta decide now.”
Vincent: (cleaning his gun) “Can’t we just, I don’t know, flip a coin or something? Make it simple, rational.”
Mr. White: (laughing bitterly) “There’s nothing rational about this business, kid. You gotta feel it.”
(Back to present in the diner)
Jules: “You see, Vincent, that’s exactly what I’m talking about. Even when we think we’re being rational, our emotions are driving the bus. But dig this – it goes even deeper. You know what really proves my point? Fonts, motherfucker.”
Vincent: (confused) “Fonts? What the fuck, Jules?”
Jules: “I’m dead serious. Without knowin’ what you like, you wouldn’t even be able to choose a font to write down your master plan. Think about it – every time you put pen to paper, you’re making a choice.”
Mr. White: (intrigued) “Go on.”
Jules: “You write in all caps ’cause it feels powerful. You choose cursive ’cause it looks classy. Hell, you pick Times New Roman on your computer ’cause anything else would make you feel like an amateur. It’s all about how it makes you feel.”
Vincent: (stubbing out his cigarette) “Shit, Jules. You’re saying even something as small as pickin’ a font is driven by emotions?”
Jules: “Abso-fuckin-lutely. Emotions, preferences – they’re what make us human, what give us an edge. A machine wouldn’t last a day in our line of work. It’s like when I’m quoting Ezekiel before a hit. It ain’t just about the words; it’s about the power it projects.”
Vincent: (nodding slowly) “Like when we chose this diner. Sure, it was close and open late, but we also felt safe here, right?”
Mr. White: “Exactly. And that feeling of safety? That’s an emotion guiding a decision. It’s like in ‘The Good, the Bad and the Ugly’ – you think Blondie chose his hiding spots with a fuckin’ calculator?”
Jules: “Damn straight. Without knowin’ what you like, what feels right, you can’t make any decision. Emotions are the fuel behind every choice we make. It’s like jazz, man. You gotta feel it in your bones.”
Vincent: (leaning in, voice lowered) “Speaking of feeling it in your bones, you see that nervous fuck by the counter? Been eyeing us since we walked in.”
Jules: (casually glancing over) “I see him. Probably thinks he’s Sonny Corleone about to make his move. But here’s the thing – his emotion, that fear we can see sweatin’ through his cheap-ass suit? That’s gonna be his downfall. Our emotions, our instincts? They’re what’s gonna keep us alive. You know what, though? There’s a flip side to this emotional coin we’ve been flippin’.”
Vincent: “Yeah? What’s that?”
Jules: “See, without emotions, we’d be stuck in a fuckin’ loop, like some kinda broken record. Imagine tryin’ to pick a shirt without knowin’ what you like.”
Mr. White: (nodding) “I get it. You’d be there all day. This one’s better quality, but that one’s cheaper. This one’s cooler, but that one’s more practical.”
Vincent: “Christ, you’d never leave the house.”
Mr. White: “But here’s the rub – you can’t let emotions run the whole show either. It’s a balancing act.”
Jules: “Damn straight. Emotions should be like the rhythm section in a band. They’re there, they’re crucial, but they ain’t singin’ lead.”
Vincent: “So what you’re saying is… emotions should inform our decisions, but not make them for us?”
Jules: “Now you’re cookin’ with gas, Vincent. It’s like… they’re advisors to the king, not the king himself. You listen to ’em, but you don’t let ’em sit on the throne.”
Mr. White: “In our line of work, that could mean the difference between pulling off a perfect heist and ending up in a Mexican standoff.”
Jules: “Or the difference between choosing the right diner for a late-night coffee and walking into a goddamn ambush.”
Mr. White: (raising his coffee cup) “Here’s to that. To emotions, instincts, and making the right choices… even in our line of work.”
Jules and Vincent: (raising their cups) “Cheers, motherfucker.”
(As they clink cups, the nervous man stands abruptly, his hand moving inside his jacket. The trio tenses, ready for action, as the screen suddenly cuts to black, leaving the outcome uncertain.)
