The Bet

One of my thesis committee members (another CA transplant) met his wife during his last year of grad-school when he was at MIT. His wife is from New England and thus, he has never left. In a friendly verbal jousting match he wanted to bet that I wouldn't make it back West. I told him that if I had to drop out and turn into a surfer bum to be on the West Coast, I would totally do it. It went like this:

Neal: So Michelle... where do you think you'll end up?
Me: West Coast. Maybe not California... but think I could do Oregon or Washington.
Neal: (evil laugh) watch... you'll end up staying here like everyone else
Me: Over my dead body.
Neal: We'll see... (evil laugh again)... wanna make a bet?
Me: (with the 'I'm gonna get you' sassiness) Sure. Fifty bucks says that within 10 years I'll be back on the West Coast
Neal: What are the odds?
Me: What do you mean "odds"?
Neal: You know... 2:1, 3:1 etc. (he continues to explain this to me)
Me: OK, the odds are 1:1
Neal: No way. You want to be back on the West Coast which works against me... not worth it.
Me: OK, fine. 2:1. In 10 years, if I'm on the West Coast, you'll owe me $50 and if I don't make it, I'll send you a check for $100
Neal: Hey, a hundred bucks is a hundred bucks
Me: Ya, but you'll be sending me a check... and I don't want any excuses like your kids are in college...
Neal: Laughs and looks at me as if thinking 'poor naive graduate student'

It's all in good humor... since we're both from the Golden State we've got a sort of unbreakable bond (except he likes the Dodgers and I like the Padres). But if I win, you better believe I'm going to drop him an e-mail.